Violins and Stethoscopes
by intense-tardis-noise
Summary: John Watson is an up-and-coming doctor at Bart's. Through a series of events, John Watson comes face-to-face with Sherlock Holmes, an incredibly talented (and an even more snobbish) concert violinist. Sherlock reintroduces John Watson to the world of music that he has long since forgotten, and John begins to question everything.
1. Chapter 1

John and Mike were out day drinking; there wasn't really any special occasion, but they decided to use "because it's Wednesday, and we still have half of a week to get to the weekend" as their excuse. Just as they were getting deep into their conversation about women and absurd medical practices, Mike got a phone call from their friend Molly.

Molly had been attending Bart's with them for a short while until she decided to audition for a music school somewhere in London. He couldn't recall the name. Almost immediately she was recruited by a fellow student to be his accompanist. The only thing John had heard about him was that he could play the violin, and he was more than a bit full of himself about it, which was already enough to make John dislike him.

"Molly? What's wrong?"

John perked up. "Oh, did that arse of a violinist do something? I'll kill him myself."

"Just try to stay calm, keep ice on that wrist, John and I are on our way," Mike said, before he hit the end button on his phone and stuffed it into his pocket. He and John immediately went outside and hailed a cab.

"Royal Academy of Music, please," Mike blurted out as they clamored into the back of the cab.

"What's wrong with her wrist?" John asked once they were inside.

"Had a fall, she thinks she may have broken it. Can't move it at all," he said, adjusting himself in the seat. "She wants you to take a look at it to see whether or not she needs to go to the hospital."

"Why not you? You go to Bart's too."

"She wants the doctor-in-training who has _good_ marks in his classes."

John laughed. "Noted."

John was silent for a moment. "God, _Royal_ Academy of Music, huh" he sneered. "Makes that arse sound even more uptight than he already is."

Mike couldn't help his laugh. "Well, remember mate, Molly goes there too. So, they aren't all bad."

John didn't look convinced. "Perhaps not. Or perhaps Molly is the only one there who isn't an uptight arse."

In about 15 minutes they arrived at the academy. It took them a few minutes to find where Molly and her violinist had been practicing, but with the help of Molly's directions through text, they eventually found the right room. They were immediately bombarded by a frantic Molly. John took her hand gently into his and examined her wrist. It definitely looked like it could be broken.

"What exactly happened?" Mike asked as John observed her hand, noting intense bruising around the wrist.

Molly gritted her teeth as John examined the wrist. "I slipped on something backstage, perhaps a stray sheet of music. I fell forward and my right hand landed on the floor a little further back than where it needed to be to catch my fall. So…I more or less fell on it, and my wrist feels like it's snapped right in two."

John gave Molly a worried look. "You should definitely go see a doctor. If it is broken, you want to get it set and casted as soon as possible."

"She can't," came the deep voice of a stranger that he already knew. "I need her for rehearsal."

John felt nauseated at the sheer ignorance. "Yeah, well, she needs her hand to play, so I think that takes priority," John snapped back without turning to face the man who was speaking to him. "She's going to see a doctor. Mike, take her to Bart's, would you?"

"You're going to stay here?" Mike asked, not even trying to mask his confusion. "With _him_?"

"I'm going to get a cab back to our flat," John said, hesitant. He gave a sideways glance at the piano that sat across the room. "I want you to take her to the hospital."

"Alright," Mike said, giving John a knowing grin. "C'mon, Molly. We'll get you fixed up."

Once they'd left the room, John turned and walked towards the piano. He refused to acknowledge the violinist's presence.

"She is quite the klutz, isn't she?" Sherlock said after only a few moments.

"That's not necessary, mate," John said, taking a seat at the piano bench. It felt he was sitting down to tea with an old friend, so they could catch up with each other.

"She should have been more careful. She should know well that stray sheets of music get dropped back there all of the time."

"Well, everyone makes mistakes. I'm sure even you do, mister perfect."

"Well, you don't seem to like me very much," Sherlock said, a snobbish air about his voice. "Why did you stay behind?"

John didn't answer. Instead, he brought his hands to hover above the keys.

"Do you mind if I play a bit?" he asked, not really caring for what the violinist's answer was going to be.

"Sure, go ahead. Maurice Ravel's Scarbo is over there somewhere I believe, if you want to try something impossible."

"Played it."

John heard the deeper silence fall between them. It was a surprised silence, like when one discovers a plot twist in their favorite show on the telly.

"What?"

"I've played it twice at least, I may be a bit rusty with it, but it is far from impossible."

John finally looked up to see the face of this stranger. Unfortunately, he wasn't wearing as much surprise as John had been secretly hoping. Sherlock had dark, brown curls framing his face, and he was wearing a black suit, as though he were currently performing. He held his violin delicately in one hand, and his bow in the other. He had a tall, lanky figure, and the air surrounding him was fogged with his sense of superiority. It made John want to throw up.

Before John could play more than a few measures, he got a call from Mike. Bart's was a lot closer than he'd thought; they were fast on their feet too this evening.

"Hey, Mike. How's Molly?"

"Wrist is broken. Not bad, but broken. Doctor says she won't be able to play piano again until it is fully healed, because the strain on the muscles wouldn't be beneficial, plus it could cause complications with how the bones heal."

John's heart sank. Poor Molly. "How long is that going to be?"

"A couple of months, he thinks. But he won't know for sure until later. He says two to three months at most, though, so it won't be too long of a wait."

"So, his royal highness here is going to have to find himself a replacement pianist until then, yeah?"

John heard an annoyed sigh come from somewhere across the room. "His royal highness _does_ have a name, you know," he snapped. John couldn't help his sense of accomplishment.

"I guess so... are, are you still at the concert hall with him?"

"Not with _him_ ," John said, disgusted. "With the piano."

Mike gave a slight chuckle. "Don't stay there too long, mate. See you back at the flat. We're almost done here."

"Alright, tell Molly I said take care."

The call ended, and John dropped his phone into his lap.

"Molly was the best of the accompanists available..." Sherlock whispered to himself, looking stressed. "I'll never be able to find someone as talented as her..."

John decided to tune him out and focus solely on the piano in front of him. His hands pressed into the keys, and the song almost seemed to play itself in front of him. John completely lost himself.


	2. Chapter 2

John sifted through the many papers that flooded the table. He had done at least 3 revisions of his research paper; sure, it was probably good enough at this point to get him an A, but… he had nothing better to do.

Not yet.

But then, destiny called. Or texted, rather. Molly's name lit up John's screen. He made a few more marks on his latest draft before picking up his phone.

 **Sherlock called me earlier today. Said he was really impressed with your playing (as he should be). He was wondering if you'd be willing to fill in for me at his upcoming recital… says he doesn't have enough time to find anyone else and you're his "only hope." Yeah, he's a drama queen. Gave him your number, so he should be contacting you shortly! Xoxo, Molly. 5:16PM**

"Molly!" John shouted, jumping up from his seat. "I don't have time for this! Why, there's rehearsals on top of rehearsals, I've still got this paper to write!"

Mike turned to face John where he sat at the table across from him. "Mate… that's your _third_ time editing that paper… I think you've got time."

John's face flushed as he stared blankly at the home screen of his phone, wondering when this stranger's number was going to appear. It wasn't until an hour later that the new phone number popped up onto his screen.

 **Hello, John. I assume Molly has already made you aware of my request, so I'll make this brief. I am desperate for a replacement accompanist, and you've proven yourself more than capable. The academy is willing to compensate you for your time.**

 **If yes, our first rehearsal will be tomorrow at 6:00pm in the same recital room we were in before.**

 **Until then, John Watson.**

 **-S.H. 6:19PM**

"Until then, he says," John said followed by an exasperated chuckle. "Bloody git is so damn full of himself, thinking there's no chance in hell I'll say no to this."

"Well, mate. You aren't gonna say no, are you?" Mike asked, already knowing John's answer.

"Shut up," John muttered, returning his attention to his phone.

 **I'll see you tomorrow at 6, Mr. Holmes.**

 **John W. 6:22PM**

John was more than a little nervous as he walked into the practice room the next evening, waiting for Sherlock to arrive. He wondered how obviously desperate he would look, having arrived 30 minutes early for this rehearsal. He'd nearly forgotten all the sorts of etiquette for rehearsals and performances. He was starting to wonder if this was something he was going to regret.

"Gah, what the hell was I thinking?" he said, beginning to absentmindedly pace about the room. "The last _real_ recital I had was ages ago. I don't have an instructor anymore, all I have is this smarmy git who is so wrapped up in himself…"

"Smarmy git? And here I thought you adored me."

John whipped around, a blush flooding his cheeks as he saw Sherlock standing in the door way, violin in hand. He could have sworn he saw a smirk on his damn face, but it was gone in a second.

"Whatever… what will we be playing, your highness?" John asked, trying his best to not be embarrassed about how this complete stranger just walked in on him having an argument with himself.

"Dance of the Goblins, Bazzini," Sherlock said, nonchalantly. "Piano part isn't too terribly challenging, so you should do fine."

"Oi, what the hell is that supposed to mean?" John demanded. "Last I heard, you were impressed with me."

"Relax, it wasn't a challenge on your talent," Sherlock responded, not losing his composure for a second. How was he so calm and collected and arrogant all the damn time? More importantly, how was it so easy for him to cause John to lose his own composure? "You were the one just pacing about the room because you can't remember the last time you played on stage… do you want me to send you out there with the Scarbo?"

John felt his cheeks flush again, looking away from him. "You've made your point. Shall we get started?"

Sherlock lifted his violin into playing position and gave a curt nod. "Start a few beats slower than the marked tempo, whatever you are comfortable with to get yourself used to the part."

Everything that Sherlock had said and done once they'd walked into the room surprised him. It was obvious he already knew the piece like the back of his hand, why didn't he just take off and be the pompous soloist he made himself out to be?

But he was…oddly kind. He did not make a fuss when John made mistakes, and it didn't take long for them to bring the piece back up to speed. The few glances John got of Sherlock playing took his breath away. His hands glided effortlessly over the instrument. He didn't know much about he violin, but he knew that left-handed pizzicato was not an easy accomplishment. It must have taken him months of practice. Yet, it looked like he was born playing this piece. Even in the carpeted recital room, his instrument sang like nothing he'd ever heard before.

John almost hadn't registered that they had made it to the end of the piece and Sherlock was standing there, a small gleam of sweat covering his face. He tried to make it look as though he hadn't been staring at him in complete awe. He was sure that would look much creepier than he was intending.

"Well, John, I think that was quite adequate for our first play through together," Sherlock said, turning away from him. "I have a few papers here. Rehearsal schedules and your payment information. You'll get your check the evening of the performance."

John forgot that he hadn't refused the offer of payment.

"You really don't have to do that, Mr. Holmes. I don't mind playing at all."

"Nonsense, you are taking time away from your studies, I insist that we compensate you."

John had no response. He certainly couldn't say that he didn't need the money because, well… university students _always_ need money.

Sherlock approached John and handed him the papers. He gave John a small smile, and there was a small sparkle in his eyes as he looked at him. "Until our next rehearsal, John."

"Until then, Mr. Holmes."

With that, Sherlock left the room. The door closed, and John was left with his forms, the piano, and a slightly elevated heart rate.


	3. Chapter 3

Before John had grasped exactly what was going on, the night of the recital arrived. John stood backstage in his suit that somehow still fit, his hands sweating and his heart pounding. Sherlock approached him, his usual essence of superiority absent, replaced with sympathy. It was so strange to see him acting so kind towards him. I guess the git had a soft spot for people who were nervous about performing.

"Just breathe, John. We've rehearsed and rehearsed. It is going to be perfect."

"Bloody hope so..." John replied, tugging at his collar.

Sherlock opened his mouth, prepared to offer some more words of comfort, but they were both jolted out of their prior thoughts by the stage director.

"It's time to go on, Mr. Holmes! Mr. Watson!"

Sherlock turned away from John as he stood up and gathered his sheet music together. They walked out together, John allowing Sherlock to lead, seeing as he was the star of the show after all.

Within the next half hour, the performance had ended, and there had been a standing ovation. For the soloist, of course. Once Sherlock had taken his bow, he motioned towards John, and they then bowed together before turning to exit the stage. Sherlock bounced about, full of adrenaline from his performance.

"Oh, John, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you were my accompanist for tonight! Why, you played like a dream! An absolute dream!"

John couldn't help the slight blush the covered his cheeks, but even then, he was still incredibly eager to leave.

"Thank you," John said. "And…thank you for the opportunity to perform again. I forgot how incredible it felt walking off stage after a good performance." John looked away, smiling slightly.

"You know, John… The Royal Academy of Music would take you in a heartbeat," Sherlock said. A silence filled the room.

"No, no…I'm studying medicine, I have no time to think of music seriously anymore." John laughed as he continued. "Plus, you don't actually think that. It's just the endorphins."

"I do think that. I've thought it since the very first time I heard you play." Sherlock said, his voice firm. John had no response but another blush as his hand moved to rub the back of his neck.

"So, if you do ever decide that medicine isn't your area—"

"Well, I must be off Mr. Holmes," John blurted out before Sherlock could finish his sentence. John didn't want to hear the end of it. It would just make this whole situation all the more confusing, and that was not something he needed to deal with right now. "Thanks again for the opportunity to play. Good evening."

"Evening, John."

With a curt nod, John turned and left to join Mike and Molly in the lobby. They immediately bombarded him, leaving him no time to think about the exchange he and Sherlock had just had.

"You did fantastic, John! You still got it!" Mike shouted, causing a few heads to turn and look at them. John gave his shy thanks to the few who complimented him on the performance as they passed by.

"I guess my parents did mean well when they forced me to take all of those piano lessons," John said with a chuckle.

"Shall we go out for a late dinner to celebrate?" Molly suggested, her face lit up with excitement. It must be strange for her to be sitting in the audience for once John thought to himself.

They made their way outside and hailed a cab. They were dropped at Baker Street. They wandered along and eventually stopped at a bar, and they spent the next few hours drinking and laughing the night away.

"So, Molly, I've got a question for you," John said between sips of beer. "Is Sherlock, you know… always… an _arse_?"

Molly couldn't help her laugh. "He's usually pretty sweet during rehearsals; he tends to rub people the wrong way when he first meets them, but he isn't the pompous fool you think he is. He is most certainly one of the most accommodating soloists I've ever worked with. I wouldn't want to play with anyone else."

John looked at her like she'd suddenly grown three more heads. "You do remember that he tried to get you to keep playing on a broken wrist, right?"

"He was kidding around. You know, he isn't completely heartless, John. Like I said, he rubs people the wrong way. They take his sarcasm and his stand-offish attitude too seriously, and they do as you did and assume that he's a complete arse who only cares about himself. He wasn't ever actually going to force me to keep playing on a busted wrist."

"He called you clumsy after you left!" John nearly shouted. He wasn't sure why he was trying so hard to make it seem like Sherlock was a monster.

"I assure you that he meant it in the most endearing way possible."

John remained silent. He felt a pang of jealousy at hearing that Sherlock used terms of endearment towards Molly. Though… what the hell is he jealous about? It isn't like his opinion of him had changed; he wanted absolutely nothing to do with that git and his jaw-dropping good looks and his incredible talent with the violin. Plus, Molly's wrist was as good as healed. He wasn't going to be playing with him again—

He wasn't going to be playing at all again. In the moment John hadn't realized that this was maybe his last chance to play the piano. His last hurrah before he turned away from the world of music forever.

John promptly began to drown his sorrows in whatever alcoholic beverages he could get his hands on.

Around 1 in the morning, John and Mike parted ways with Molly as they walked back towards their flat. John, now having consumed more than a few alcoholic beverages, was babbling loudly about his latest efforts with school and romance until he walked right into a familiar stranger.

"Oh, good heavens John…" Mike exclaimed, yanking him back towards him. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes. He's had a few too many this evening."

"This is obvious," Sherlock replied, with the smallest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Gone out to celebrate a job well done, have we?"

"Well, it's good to know that the smarmy git we all know and love has made his return," John muttered under his breath.

Before Sherlock could make any sort of response, Mike pushed John towards home. "Well, I better be getting this oaf home before he destroys half of London," Mike said, eyeing John as he drunkenly swayed where he stood before him. Sherlock seemed to have filled with a sudden sadness that John couldn't help but notice in his drunken daze.

"Yes, yes, I should be getting home as well… safe walk, Mr. Stamford. Good evening, John."

With that, Sherlock made his way past and continued walking in the opposite direction. John turned around briefly as he passed. What the hell did he look _sad_ for? He didn't stay on the question long, as Mike started pushing him forward again.

"Alright, John," Mike whispered to himself, yanking Mike back towards him. "Let's get you home, mate."


	4. Chapter 4

The days passed just as they had before John had ever gotten sucked back into the music world. It had been two weeks since Molly had gotten the all-clear to continue playing, and he hadn't seen or heard from Sherlock Holmes since the night of the performance.

After a long day of studying, John had finally decided he was ready to dive into bed and fall asleep forever. Just as John stood up from his desk, his phone buzzed.

"Who the hell would be texting me at this hour?" he asked himself, picking up his phone.

 **Hello John. I have an inquiry for you, if you have a moment. –SH 11:46PM**

John felt the anxiety twisting in his gut. That must be Sherlock's way of saying 'Hey, I've got a question…' John hated it when texts started like that. 9 times out of 10 it led to some sort of disaster.

 **Yeah, I've got a few minutes. But I've got to get to bed here shortly. What is it? John. 11:47PM**

John put the phone down again and slumped into his chair, staring at the wall as he waited for Sherlock to text back. He suddenly wasn't as tired as he had been before. He was getting more and more anxious. Of course the gorgeous stranger had to text him 'hey, I have a question' when it was nearly midnight! On a Sunday night, nonetheless. Damn… either Sherlock was writing him a novel, or he'd gotten preoccupied. Knowing what little John knew about the git, it was most likely the former.

 **Well, as I'm sure you've heard from Molly Hooper, she has been temporarily reassigned to a piano trio that is performing later in the semester; their program is massive, and Molly is the most accomplished and talented pianist in the academy, so naturally they recruited her. I have another solo recital coming up next month, and I am still in need of a pianist. Since the best pianist at the Royal Academy is currently unavailable, and, well considering that your talent even outshines her own, this leads us to my inquiry. It simply wouldn't be sensible for me to reach out to another pianist here who's skill level does not compare to either of you. I would be honored if you would be able to fill in for Molly until she has completed her work with the trio. I do hope you consider the offer. –SH 11:59PM**

John's heart thumped as he read the message.

 **No, Molly hasn't told me that yet, but that's great. As far as being your pianist, I really don't know, Mr. Holmes. My schedule fills and empties with no pattern. I don't know if I would have the time. Sometimes I can barely find time to eat and breathe, and with the semester getting into its full swing, I'm worried it would be too much for me to handle. John. 12:04AM**

 **You would be getting paid again; I forgot to mention. The academy would gladly compensate you for your time. –SH 12:05AM**

John thought. He thought a lot about what he was going to do. He truly would love to continue playing, but…

 **I appreciate it, Mr. Holmes, but money truly isn't the issue. It is just…the time. I'm sorry. John. 12:09AM**

John was expecting those to be the last words he ever spoke to Sherlock Holmes.

But Sherlock was always full of surprises; he texted back almost immediately. As though he had been prepared for John to be so stubborn.

 **Pardon me if this is out of line, but, do you get the same look on your face studying medicine as you do when you're seated in front of a piano, John? –SH 12:10AM**

John's breath hitched.

"Damn…" he breathed, clutching the phone tighter in his hand. The git was right. He really… really loved playing the piano. Not to get the wrong idea, however; John was incredibly passionate about his studies and wanted nothing more than to become a successful doctor. Yet… this could be his last opportunity to get to play real recitals like this.

He wasn't ready to let go.

John took another deep breath before responding to Sherlock's text.

 **Alright, Sherlock. I'll do it. When's the first rehearsal? John. 12:13AM**

 **Oh, excellent, John! I'm looking very forward to playing with you again. The first rehearsal is this Wednesday, 6:00pm, same practice hall as before. See you then. Take care, John. –SH 12:15AM**

John put his phone back on his desk and flopped into his bed. His hands flew up to cover his face and he groaned. What on Earth did he think he was doing? He had papers to write and studying to do. He didn't have time to go play the piano twice a week.

Why did he say yes? Why didn't he _want_ to say no?

Ever since he was young, even during his intensive time as a young concert pianist, he dreamed of nothing more than becoming a doctor. What changed?

Certainly it wasn't this Sherlock character. With his stupid curly hair, and his mysterious air. How he'd come off as a complete prick, and somehow pulled a complete reversal on his image when he and John practiced together the first time. How absolutely wonderful it was to watch him get lost in his instrument. How John had loved watching him bounce about excitedly afterwards.

Sherlock's words echoed in his head, torturing him.

 _The Royal Academy of Music would take you in a heartbeat._

Would they really? He was so rusty… sure, he'd been a force to be reckoned with back when he competed and performed regularly, but. It wasn't medicine. It wasn't supposed to be what he wanted.

With another frustrated groan, John pulled the covers over himself and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, John woke up to his phone almost buzzing itself off the table. It was Molly.

"Hello?" John asked, still not completely awake.

"Hey, John, I wanted to say thank you for accepting Sherlock's request! I'm sorry, I totally forgot to warn you that he was going to ask you again... or that I got recruited into the piano trio. This thing popped up so suddenly, and they really weren't going to let me say no. You really saved me, Sherlock never would have forgiven me if I left him with a sub-par pianist."

John laughed. "Why'd you leave him with me then?"

"Shut up, you're talented and you know it."

There was a small bit of commotion on the other end. "Oh, I have to go, rehearsal is starting soon. Thanks again, John, I owe you!"

With that, the line went dead. John rolled back over and laid in bed for almost another hour before deciding to get up. He didn't have any classes until the afternoon, so he was in no real hurry. He thanked whatever deities there were that he didn't have a heavy load on Mondays; it allowed him significantly more recovery time from long weekends. And when a certain soloist kept you up all night with anxiety and an existential crisis.

Wednesday arrived much quicker than John had anticipated. He again arrived almost a half hour early for the rehearsal, but to his surprise, Sherlock was already there.

"Ah, good, you're early," he said, standing up and walking towards John, clapping his hands together. "Firstly, I want to thank you again for taking the time to do this with me. I really can't express my gratitude."

"Well, to be honest… I don't think I'm ready to let go of music yet. I hadn't realized how much I missed this damn piano until you asked me to play for you."

Sherlock smiled at him. A real, genuine smile. John wasn't sure he'd ever seen it before.

"Anyways," John continued. "What are we playing this time, your highness?" He hoped that Sherlock caught on to how John was attempting to change what was originally an insult into a term of endearment. He owed much of his recent happiness to the man that was standing in front of him, so it made sense that he was dear to him… right?

"Preludium and Allegro! A classic… I haven't played it in ages. But, the piano part doesn't have anything too crazy. And since we are only a month out from the next performance, I figured it would be good to return to a piece I was more or less familiar with. It's always good to do that sort of thing, you know."

"Yeah. My old instructor always pushed me to always go back to songs I knew I could play well, especially when I was feeling… frustrated."

A sudden uncomfortable silence fell over them.

"Is… is there something that's frustrating you, Mr. Holmes?"

A blush flooded Sherlock's cheeks. "Please… you can call me Sherlock, you know. I figure we are well past the first name basis."

John figured he had crossed some sort of line, and he decided to drop the subject. "All right, Preludium and Allegro." He picked up the piano part and began to flip through the pages. "Kreisler, excellent composer. Can't say I've ever heard the piece though. Shall we get started?"

"Yes, let's."

The rehearsal passed in the same uncomfortable silence. John knew there was something wrong, but he and Sherlock were certainly not on the level where he would tell him anything.

Regardless of the type of silence, Sherlock still played beautifully. Once again, John had to remind himself that it was probably quite rude to stare at Sherlock this way, but he could hardly help it. The piano part was easy enough, and eventually John didn't even have to keep his eyes on the music. So, he got to keep his eyes on the interesting part.

The rehearsal ended. Sherlock gave a curt goodbye and thanked John again for his time before rushing out of the room. Without thinking, John pulled out his phone.

 **I'm sorry if I said something that made you uncomfortable. You are under no obligation to tell me anything personal. John 7:32PM**

John picked up his music, and he noticed a piece of paper sticking out in the back of the book. He pulled it out and read it. It was…

"An… application?"

His phone buzzed with Sherlock's response.

 **Your apology isn't necessary, I was overreacting to my own thoughts and what they might mean.**

 **But to answer your question, John. Yes. Something is frustrating me. And I would absolutely love to tell you all the answers you are looking for, but, unfortunately, your guess would be as good as mine.**

 **What am I frustrated about, exactly? Simple. You. Your talent. Your impending absence from the music world.**

 **Why am I frustrated about this? Why does it matter whether or not you are going to be a musician? Why does it frustrate me so that some day you are going to walk away from our rehearsals and never come back? I don't know, John. -S.H. 7:35PM**

The same anxiety John felt the other night when he asked him to be his accompanist again was creeping back into John's chest. He looked back at the application for the Academy. Sherlock had put it there on purpose.

His phone buzzed again.

 **I am captivated. -S.H. 7:36PM**

John's heart was beating faster, his hands shaking as he typed his reply.

 **Captivated… by what? John 7:37PM**

Sherlock's reply was instantaneous.

 **You. -S.H. 7:38PM**


	5. Chapter 5

"So… am I reading too much into this?" John asked, watching Molly as she scrolled through the messages Sherlock had sent him yesterday.

"He does seem different when I see him in theory… he seems completely out of focus, which is unusual for him."

"What do you think is wrong? Why is he… captivated? By _me_? Of all people…"

"Well," Molly said, smirking at John. "Considering that I've never seen Sherlock act this way in all the years I've known him, I'm assuming this is how he reacts to feelings that he doesn't understand."

John looked at her like she was insane. "What are you implying, Molly?"

"I'm implying that you aren't what Sherlock was expecting, and he doesn't know how to handle you. He's _captivated_ by the way you're making him feel."

John stood up, shaking his head. "No, no. There is nothing to 'handle.' I'm just his accompanist! The stupid accompanist to this stupid bloody prick of a violinist…"

John grabbed his phone and his jacket and turned towards the door.

"John, where are you going?"

"I need a drink."

"Don't be insane, you can't go out alone."

"I need a drink!"

John slammed the door before he could listen to any more of Molly's protests. His phone immediately started buzzing with frantic texts, so he just put it on silent and dropped it into his pocket.

John sat at the bar, drink in hand.

Why was he so freaked out earlier? Nothing Molly had said to him was inherently bad.

So what if he happened to be falling in love with— no. No, none of the L-word. John was not falling in L-word with Sherlock Holmes. He was a bloody prick, he was. Nothing more. Sure, he had gorgeous brown hair and beautiful eyes that John loved to stare into. Especially when he was excited about something—

No! None of this was making any sense… their only interaction had been through music, where were all of these feelings coming from? How had such a complicated relationship formed between the two of them when they hardly ever exchanged words when they were together?

Why did John feel like he was constantly having to fight of these thoughts when he was around him?

Why was Sherlock… frustrated that John wasn't studying music? Why was Sherlock frustrated that some day they may never play together again?

Why was that something that they were both so afraid of?

The more thoughts that spiraled through John's head, the more he drank. Eventually, a bartender was shoving him towards the door. Something about 'we're closed, go home.'

What was it about Sherlock…

It was already not a smart decision for John to get completely wasted on his own, and he realized this is exactly what Molly had been trying to avoid. It was even less smart for John to decide to hobble home on his own, while completely wasted. But, he was sure no cab was going to take him smelling like he'd just gone swimming in a brewery.

He was about half way to his flat when he noticed the feeling of some sort of presence close behind him. He stopped and turned around; nobody was there.

John was almost home, so he figured as long as he kept up his quick pace and kept walking he'd be there in a few minutes. He was wrong. Immediately he was jumped by 2 or 3 men; he felt a sharp prick in his neck, and his hand immediately grabbed for the source. The muggers were trying to inject some sort of drug into him, but he ripped the syringe out of their grasp before too much could be administered. At least his doctor-in-training brain wasn't completely incapacitated through his drunken haze. The muggers dragged him into the ally and knocked him to the ground. As drunk as John was, he didn't make much of an effort to stand back up. He must have made some kind of noise, though, because a short time later he felt the soft hand of an older woman was on his shoulder, shaking him to keep him awake. He opened his eyes, but immediately closed them again when he was assaulted by the flashing of the police lights.

"Sherlock!" the woman's voice called. "Sherlock, I need your help!"

"Sherrlock...?" John slurred, unable to move save for rolling onto his back.

"Yes dear, come on," the woman said. "Let's sit you up."

"Oh god, John!" Sherlock exclaimed, running to help the woman pick him up. "Are you alright?"

John tried to nod, but his head just fell down, his chin hitting is chest.

Sherlock turned to ensure that the muggers were all put in their cuffs before wrapping John's left arm around him and hoisting him up into a standing position.

"I've got John, Mrs. Hudson. You can go back to your flat."

"Oh, thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson said, her voice soft. "I'll go get you boys some tea; John looks like he could use some of the strong stuff."

Mrs. Hudson waddled off in front of them as Sherlock slowly helped John make his way into the building and up the stairs to Sherlock's flat. Eventually they made it all the way up.

"Do you mind?!" John yelled as Sherlock pushed him through the door to his flat. "How did you even know I was there… how did you find my house? I didn't tell you where I live!"

"This is where _I_ live, John. And do relax. You know, I did just save your life."

"Well, I didn't _ask_ you to save my life, now did I?"

"Oh, enough with the nonsense," Sherlock said, throwing John some clothes. "Change into these and go to bed. You're so drunk I can smell it."

"S'your fault, you know," John said, giving Sherlock an accusatory stare.

"What… my fault?" Sherlock asked. His common sense told him not to push John on the subject while he was intoxicated, but he had no idea what John was on about.

"Oh, don't worry about it, pretty boy. If you don't know I can't tell you."

Sherlock let out a deep sigh. "Just go to bed, John. Everything will be all right."

John muttered something Sherlock couldn't understand as Sherlock pushed him towards the spare bedroom. He watched as John flopped unceremoniously onto the mattress. Sherlock took the comforter and laid it over him before shutting out the light and closing the door. He then grabbed an extra blanket from his own room and set up camp on the couch. He figured if he slept out here he would hear John trying to leave or do something stupid while he was drunk.

After a few more minutes, Mrs. Hudson came in with a tray holding two cups of steaming tea and a plate of freshly baked biscuits. She put it down gently on the coffee table, and Sherlock sat up.

"Where has John gone?" she asked, looking around the living room.

"He was quite drunk, so I put him to bed before he could do any more damage," Sherlock said, picking up one of the biscuits and taking a bite.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson said, concerned.

"It's all fine, Mrs. Hudson. Do go back downstairs and get yourself to bed. It is getting late."

"Is that the John who plays the piano with you? The one you are always talking about after your rehearsals?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a grin, as if she knew exactly what she'd just said and said it that way on purpose. Sherlock nearly choked on the biscuit in his mouth.

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"You keep a good eye on John, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Goodnight, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, softly closing Sherlock's door. Sherlock placed his biscuit back on the plate and fell back on the couch. Soon enough sleep had washed over him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock jolted awake. When he realized it was just John, he relaxed, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Good morning John."

He had never had another person in his flat before; he didn't exactly know how he felt about it. All he knew was that he didn't hate it, and that was a strange feeling to have absent from him in this sort of situation. Why the hell was John so different?

"Should I even ask why I was asleep in your bed?" John sighed, as he rubbed his temples.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't pull any drunken shenanigans, so I took you home with me." Sherlock was impressed with how nonchalant he made himself sound with all of this.

John sighed and placed a hand on his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Incoming hangover headache. "Did I do anything I'll regret?"

"You were mugged, but that's hardly your fault."

"Mugged?!"

"Don't worry, all of your belongings were collected by the police, they are on the dining room table," Sherlock said, sitting up.

John let out a sigh of relief and moved his hand up to his neck. He felt a bump and rubbed it. "What's this?"

"They must've tried to drug you, and failed."

"Oh boy, I had a fantastic night, didn't I?" John asked sheepishly.

"Care for some tea?" Sherlock asked, slowly standing up.

"Alright."

Sherlock brewed some tea and heated up some biscuits. After they ate, John sat and twiddled his fingers together, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Alright… he was in the attractive violinist's apartment, he'd slept there. Said attractive violinist saved him from a mugging, apparently. What the hell was supposed to happen next?

"I guess, um… thanks, for letting me stay. Thanks for not letting me do anything stupid."

"You really should stop getting so drunk, you know," Sherlock teased. "Especially when you don't have Mike or Molly to babysit you."

John scoffed and turned away, trying to hide his blush. "I don't need a babysitter, I'm in medical school for God's sake."

"Pity, that is. You'll make a poor doctor if you've always got a hangover."

"Don't test me, Holmes," John spat, his voice cold. Sherlock threw his hands up in playful surrender.

"Would you like me to call you a cab so you can get home this time?"

"If it'll get you out of my hair, please…"

Sherlock chuckled, pulling out his phone. "Absolutely captivating…"

John gave him a strange look. "What is?"

Sherlock looked at him with bright, blue eyes. He couldn't read what was there, but whatever it was had his heart racing.

He spoke one word; it was a whisper, and it sent a shiver down John's spine.

"You."

John remained silent until his cab arrived. He was certain he was as red as a tomato the entire time, and every time he caught Sherlock's gaze he was _smirking_ at him. Git…

Eventually, however, John made it home. He was greeted by an uneasy Mike and Molly sitting on the couch.

"Oh, John, where the hell have you been?" Molly cried as he walked in the door. She stood up and was next to him in a moment. "Mike texted me saying you never came home, and you wouldn't answer your damn phone! What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking, that was my problem," John said, rubbing the bump on his neck.

"Well, you're lucky you aren't dead. Because if you had gotten killed, I would have resurrected you and killed you myself," Molly said, crossing her arms and fixing him with an angry stare.

"Relax, Molly. Sherlock let me—"

"Sherlock?!" Both Molly and Mike shouted in unison, sending a jolt of pain through John's temples.

"Okay, first of all… _ow_. Can we please keep the shouting to a minimum?"

"Sorry," Molly whispered, bouncing where she stood. She couldn't hide her excitement. Her grin took up almost half of her face. And Mike just looked completely dumbfounded that he'd been left out of the loop with the whole Sherlock situation until what he assumed was last night when they couldn't get a hold of John.

"I got mugged," John held up a hand stopping them from making any outbursts. "I'm fine, Sherlock's landlady found me and the police were called."

John stopped in his tracks for a moment… how had the muggers not ran before the police got there? Mrs. Hudson was the only one there. Maybe she was secretly one of those badass old ladies or something. Anyway…

"Nothing was stolen, and they were arrested. Sherlock let me sleep in his spare room and he even gave me breakfast when I woke up."

"Did you guys… talk at all?" Molly asked, her voice cautious.

"He… he called me captivating again. And, oh God, the way he looked at me… Molly, what the hell is going on?"

Molly grinned at him again. "You're in lov—"

"No! No. No L-word."

"Oh, what's the point in fighting it John?"

"Because it doesn't make sense! I've hardly known him for a month, how could I be in love with someone I barely know?"

"God, you sure are thick for someone that was smart enough to get into medical school," Molly said, giggling. "Love doesn't have a time limit John. Plus… you two play music together. That's only the most romantic language two people can speak! No words, just the music flowing through the both of them. It transfers endless thoughts and emotions through the two of you and before you know it, all you can think about is how you feel when you are playing together!"

John sighed. "Since when are you the relationship expert?" Molly only continued to smile at him.

"I see it all the time, John. You form incredibly special connections to people through music. There's nothing else like it."

John simply shook his head. But deep down, he knew that everything Molly had just told him made complete sense.


	7. Chapter 7

John arrived a bit earlier than usual for their next rehearsal. He had found some old sheet music in his flat and wanted to spend a few moments on his own with the piano. It was quite a beautiful instrument. It had a sleek finish, and a gorgeous white color. John had only ever played a piano such as this in his dreams. He double checked to make sure he didn't hear any footsteps coming down the hall, and then he sat down and began to play.

However, he wasn't as alone as he thought. Sherlock, who'd always been light on his feet, had managed to sneak up to the door and listen. He hadn't had a chance to listen to John play solo piano music since they first met. He was playing Chopin's Nocturne Number 8 in D-flat major. It was absolutely stunning. Sherlock stood rooted by the door, listening, his heart swelling with pride and something else he couldn't quite place.

"Such talent… wasted on a career as a doctor," he whispered to himself as the piece came to a close. He walked into the room, clapping slowly. John jolted in his seat, and Sherlock could see the blush on the back of his neck.

"Chopin? Impressive, maestro. Very impressive."

"I had to play it for a recital in high school; it's one of the best pieces I've ever played…" John said softly, turning around on the piano stool. "I'm surprised I was able to play it so decently."

"It was beyond decent, John. It sounded lovely."

"Thank you… shall we get started?"

"Yes, of course. But there's something I want us to do first, I'll be right back."

Sherlock closed the lid of the piano gently and placed his violin on top of it before running out of the room. Where on Earth was he going in such a hurry?

In a few moments he returned with an electric tea kettle, two mugs, and a bag full of different kinds of tea.

"What is going on?" John asked, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

"I have to get myself in the zone before I do a rehearsal, or I won't be able to focus," Sherlock said plainly, as though it was the most sensible thing in the world.

John gave him a confused stare. "We've had plenty of rehearsals, have you not been _in the zone_ before?"

"I have been, but I figured since we have spent a healthy amount of time together, I can get myself focused the way I normally do. I guess it gets me super focused."

"So we have to drink tea… together?" John asked again, still confused.

"You're very cute when you're confused," Sherlock said softly, almost as though he didn't want John to hear him. He blushed furiously as Sherlock continued talking. "We're going to drink some tea and talk about things. Musical things. It gets us both in the rehearsal zone at the same time, and I feel like we are more connected this way throughout the rehearsal. Though, I must say, our connection thus far without this 'tea time' has been fairly deep already, so I'm hoping that this can only make things go even smoother than usual."

John couldn't help how his heart fluttered slightly at all of the compliments. "You're sure you aren't just in it for the bonding?" he teased.

Sherlock gave a soft smile. "Well, I must say, I am looking forward to getting to know you better, John. Our music has already told me so much about you, but, I want to hear your voice."

John's face turned beet red as Sherlock walked across the room to plug in the kettle and begin boiling the water. How could Sherlock unravel him so easily? Why did John… like it? What had they done that had left both of them so in awe of each other? They just… played music. Molly was surely pulling his leg earlier with all that music forms some sort of special bond between musicians. It was just sound waves. It didn't make sense that every rehearsal left John giddy with joy, and that his thoughts were usually plagued with the handsome violinist he'd been spending all of his time with as of late.

And while Sherlock appeared so smooth, inside his thoughts were spiraling. Why was it so easy for him to tease John? And… flirt with him? Sherlock was _not_ a people person, this much was obvious. Molly Hooper was about the only person on this planet that Sherlock could say the company was enjoyable. He'd barely known John for a month and he'd already surpassed Molly by leaps and bounds. What was it about John that made Sherlock spiral out of control?

Several weeks passed of the same unaware flirting between John and Sherlock. They were both about at their wits end. Neither of them had any idea what was going on, and they weren't sure of exactly how they were supposed to push the situation forward.

In the end, it was Sherlock that pulled the first punch. He sent Molly a text.

 **Molly,**

 **Before you take any of this the wrong way, I want you to know that you truly are the most talented pianist at this academy and I have no doubt that you will be one of the most prestigious pianists of all time.**

 **I would like to ask him to be my accompanist from now until, well… until he would have to stop. He is a truly talented musician and I have never felt more connected to an individual as I have with him.**

 **I am sorry that it has taken me so long to realize this. I hope your endeavors with the piano trio are going well. Perhaps afterwards you can venture into your solo career.**

 **Take care, Molly Hooper. Though, I do hope to still see you from time to time.**

 **You are one of the closest friends I have. Nothing will ever change that.**

 **-S.H. 7:32PM**

Sherlock received no response. He was sure Molly would be upset. They had been playing together for years. It couldn't feel great to be replaced by someone Sherlock barely knew, but… what if this was the last time he and John would ever be able to spend together?

Mike and John were working on an assignment when Molly rang. Mike picked up his phone and answered it.

"Woah, Molly, I can't understand you… why are you crying? What happened?"

John perked up. He had a feeling that this had something to do with Sherlock.

John could overhear Molly's sobs through Mike's phone. After a few minutes Mike shot John a strange look.

"Molls, I'm going to put you on speaker phone, okay? John is here with me. Let's talk this out."

Mike put the phone down on the table and put it on speaker.

"Hey, Molly? What's going on?" John asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Sherlock texted me last night," Molly started, her voice quivering. "He said he wants… he wants to ask you to permanently replace me as his accompanist."

"What the hell?" John shouted, jumping up from his seat. "That bloody idiot… he knows I can't do that! Why would he replace you? All he ever says is you're the best in the academy. Why is he acting so bloody stupid…"

"What exactly did he say to you, Molly?" Mike asked, his voice tinged with anger. It was going to take a lot to hold him back the next time he met Sherlock face-to-face. Mike had always been very protective of Molly, especially when it came to Sherlock.

"He said that he has never felt such a close connection as he does with John… which, I mean, I get it. It's _obvious_ what is happening between you two. But, I don't know… it just really hurt to know that our bond wasn't as strong as I thought it was.

"Oh, Molly, don't be ridiculous," John said, trying not to laugh. "Sherlock always speaks so highly of you. He loves you, in his own Sherlockian way."

He couldn't tell if it was a huff of sad amusement he heard on Molly's end or not.

"Plus… I'm training to be a doctor. I'm a doctor, not a pianist. I just play the piano in his free time. It's different from you, Molly. The piano is going to be your lively hood. You're in the Royal Academy for God's sake; not only that, you are the most talented pianist there! Let me talk to Sherlock. I assure you he is not going to let you go. Not ever."

John remembered what Sherlock had told him after their first performance together, and immediately tried to shake the thought.

 _The Royal Academy of Music would take you in a heartbeat._

He then found himself thinking that he didn't want to say no… he had fallen hard for the piano, and even harder for the tall violinist with bright blue eyes and curly brown locks of hair. Damn… what the hell was happening to him? Where had his passion for medicine gone? All he ever wanted to do was help people.

All it took was one gorgeous stranger to come into his life and completely uproot everything John had ever thought he understood.

Then John started to realize that maybe it wasn't all about how he didn't want to let go of playing the piano. Sure, it had all been like a dream and John dreaded the day he'd have to leave behind that gorgeous piano he'd been playing for the past several months. But, John? A musician? Preposterous. He could hardly imagine it. It had been Sherlock that had made this whole experience so exhilarating. From their pre-rehearsal tea to the short breaks they took laying on the floor and talking about all sorts of things, John loved it all.

He didn't want to lose Sherlock… What if Sherlock never talked to him again if John declined wanting to be his partner?

He didn't want to lose Sherlock. He couldn't. He was one of the greatest people John had ever met, he was sure of it… he wasn't ready to give all of that up.

In the middle of his frantic thoughts, John received a text.

 **Meet me at the Speedy's by my flat on Baker St. Must ask you something important. –SH 11:48AM**

"He just texted me," John said, and Mike and Molly went quiet. "I'll go talk to him now. I'll get this all figured out, Molly."

"John."

John stopped in his tracks. "Yeah?"

"I want you to do what is going to make you happy," Molly said softly, almost hesitantly. "I know that you and Sherlock have gotten close over the past few months and… don't throw away your happiness just for me, okay? I know that's like, your whole mode of operation, but for once… do what is going to make you happy. You mean more to me than being his accompanist."

John felt his heart swell.

"I love you, Molly; you're one of the greatest friends I've ever had. I'll keep you posted."

"I love you too, John. Good luck with whatever you decide to do."

With that, Molly ended the call and John was out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

"Sherlock?" John asked as he approached the table. Sherlock turned to him and smiled.

"Hello John. Are you alright? You seem a bit tense."

"I'm good enough, I suppose," John said as he sat down across the table from Sherlock. "How are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Good. Great actually." Sherlock fidgeted nervously in his seat. "I, um… I wanted to ask you something, John."

John kept his mouth shut. He didn't want Sherlock to know that he had already heard of his question, and had said no.

"Would you… would you like to… go… out with me… sometime?"

John sat there blankly, hardly blinking. He stared at Sherlock for what felt like ages. A blush creeped up Sherlock's face and he looked away, stammering around incomprehensible words trying to form an apology. He eventually composed himself enough to speak actual words. "Oh, I completely understand. It was a silly question; I should have known-"

"Wait…" John said, holding his hands up. "Do you mean, _go out_ go out? Like… a date? A… romantic… date?"

"Yes?" Sherlock replied cautiously. "Was there another sort of dating you had in mind?"

"I'd love to go on a date with you." John had blurted the words before he could stop himself. Then it was his turn to blush as he saw Sherlock's eyes light up in excitement. He wasn't exactly sure what Sherlock had been so captivated by that compelled him to ask John on a date, but he wasn't going to fight it. There was no doubt that his being thrust back into the world of music was nothing short of destiny. Had he come across anyone other than Sherlock Holmes himself, he had no doubt that he wouldn't be finding himself stuck in this crushing debate over what John truly wanted to do for himself.

He was falling back in love with music, but it was more than that. He was falling in love with Sherlock Holmes, and he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of their days playing music together.

Damnit… what would his parents think if he dropped out of medical school? Especially now, when he was so close to being finished? No… he couldn't. Not now. No matter how badly he wished he could. He couldn't just give up becoming a doctor. It was too late. Molly was Sherlock's rightful accompanist. But, that didn't mean that they couldn't spend time together otherwise. John couldn't have everything he wanted, but he wasn't going to let himself give up what little he could have. He could have Sherlock, and that would always be enough.

"Molly was really upset about you wanting to ask me to be your permanent accompanist, Sherlock…" John started cautiously. He was certain Sherlock would know that he knew, seeing as Molly was one of his best friends. "As much as I would love to continue playing with you, it isn't fair to Molly. I really think you should take her back. She really is quite a wonderful player."

"I agree completely," Sherlock said. "Molly is a fantastic player; her skill is no doubt up to par. But… you are better."

"She goes to the fancy music school, Sherlock. I don't."

"That doesn't mean she's better. That just means she goes to the fancy music school. You could go there too, if you ever wanted to."

"And maybe I do want to…" John started. Sherlock immediately looked up at him.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked excitedly. "Let's start picking out audition pieces! It isn't too late to apply for next semester!"

"It is too late for me, Sherlock," John sighed, his face falling. "I'm two years out from being done with medical school, I can't just drop it. Not now."

"So, finish medical school, then join the academy. It's simple."

"No, Sherlock. I wish it was, but it isn't. Money is already tight. I'll have to get a job once I'm finished. My time as a musician has, unfortunately, come to an end. At least professionally. I'm sure I'll never give up the piano completely, but that is a dream that has come and gone."

Sherlock's excitement quickly faded from his eyes, and it nearly broke John's heart.

"Don't do that to me, Sherlock. You still have Molly. You'll still be able to give performances that take people's breath away. And, I'm sure we'll still be able to find time to play music together. We don't have to give all of it up, just some of it."

Sherlock nodded his head in understanding. He grabbed John's hands and held them in his own, causing John to break out in a blush again.

"I know that your heart is torn, John. But I'll tell you this. No matter what, it is never too late. Remember that. It is _never_ too late to chase after what your heart wants."

John wasn't sure what he was supposed to make of that, but before he could think about it too long, Sherlock stood up.

"Well, _boyfriend_. Shall we take a stroll and discuss details of our date. The romantic kind."

John scoffed. "Git… why did I agree to do this, again?"

Sherlock pulled John around so they were facing each other, and John swore he'd never seen such an intense gaze in those beautiful blue eyes.

"Because you're madly in love with me, remember?"

"Shut up!" John spat, once again blushing beet red. "Bloody idiot…"

The rest of the walk was actual date planning mixed in with Sherlock continuously picking on John and he was sure he wouldn't stop blushing for the next 2 years of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

John made his way to Royal Albert Hall. After Sherlock's rehearsal, they were going to head to the West End to see a musical together. He paused outside the door as he heard that he and Molly were still rehearsing pretty intensely. John smiled as he listened to them. In the end he was glad he'd turned down Sherlock's request. There was no doubt that he and Molly played together like an absolute dream.

After a few more minutes the song eventually came to a close, and John walked into the room.

"Sounded lovely, as always, you two."

Molly turned around and gave John a big smile. "Oh! Date night? Sorry I kept you so long, Sherlock!"

John was barely able to suppress his chuckle as the blush creeped across Sherlock's face. It was always so much easier for Sherlock to get John to blush, so he reveled in these small victories.

They made their way outside and hailed a cab.

"Zoilo please, on Duke Street," Sherlock said as he climbed into the back of the cab. The ride was quick and quiet, and John couldn't tell if it was the anxiety or excitement that was bubbling up in him the most.

After a lovely candlelit dinner, they left the restaurant with John a blushing mess, as he usually was around Sherlock. They hailed another cab and as they climbed into the back, Sherlock whispered a destination into the cabbie's ear. They began driving, leaving John in the dark.

"So… are you finally going to murder me?" John asked, attempting to hide his apprehension with humor.

Sherlock hummed to himself, as though he were considering the option.

"No. No, I don't believe so."

After about 30 minutes, they were dropped off at Richmond park. Without saying anything, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him towards the path.

"Sherlock, seriously, where are we going?"

Sherlock tsked him. "Patience, Doctor Watson. It's a virtue."

John huffed. "I'll show you virtue in a minute, you bloody git."

Sherlock only chuckled in response.

Eventually they arrived at what John assumed was close to the middle of the park. They found a picnic table and Sherlock sat down on the table top. John sat next to him.

"So… what exactly are we doing here, Sherlock?"

"what does it look like?" Sherlock asked, gesturing towards the sky. John only gave him a confused look. Sherlock huffed in frustration and grabbed John's shoulder, pulling him so he was laying down on the table next to him.

"Stargazing. How exactly did you get accepted to medical school with that quick wit of yours?"

John elbowed Sherlock in the side. "Shut up, git."

The two of them laid there staring up at the stars, absentmindedly pointing out various constellations.

After a while, though, they fell silent and just laid there. A million thoughts began to run through Sherlock's head. It was obvious what they were doing here, right? Laying in a park, star gazing? When did Sherlock become… a romantic? He wasn't sure. But what he was sure of was that he had fallen so head-over-heels in love with the boy next to him that he couldn't think straight. Sherlock sat up suddenly, trying to steady his spinning head. John stirred next to him; he must have been falling asleep.

"What's wrong, Sherlock?" he asked, his voice full of sleep. John slowly sat up and Sherlock turned to face him. The moonlight sparkled in his eyes, and Sherlock thought he'd never seen someone so beautiful in his life. Sherlock gently brought up his hand to cup John's face. He heard John make a small gasping sound, but he didn't make a motion to pull away.

"John… I think, no… I know. You're one of the greatest things to ever happen to me, and… you make me feel alive in so many ways I'm unfamiliar with. You bring out the best of me that I didn't know I had, and, John… I-I'm in love with you." Sherlock let out a shaking breath. "I'm so in love with you."

Before John even processed what Sherlock had said, he pulled him into a kiss. Sherlock let out a surprised sound, but soon his hands found John's hips and he leaned into the kiss.

"I love you too, you stupid idiot," John whispered against Sherlock's lips. He felt him smile, and John's heart swelled.

"Such wonderful terms of endearment, my love," Sherlock joked. John let out a chuckle before pulling Sherlock back into another kiss. Afterwards the two laid back down, John snuggling up to Sherlock's side. They laid there for hours watching the stars, holding hands, and being so in love.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been over a year since they started dating. Sherlock knew something this good couldn't have lasted. He hated himself for dragging both him and John through all of this, just to rip it away from both of them.

He was approaching the end of his final year at the Royal Academy. He had to start thinking about where he was going from here. He, of course, was leaning towards a graduate program. He loved performing more than anything, but he wanted to be able to do more. He wanted to be able to teach and spread his passion for music around wherever he went. He wouldn't perform all his life. Carpal Tunnel was sure to find its way into his wrists sooner rather than later.

And of course, Julliard grabbed his attention. One of the most prestigious music schools in the whole world, and he was almost certain that he would be accepted. Why, he was bloody Sherlock Holmes. Only barely in his 20s and already one of the most prestigious concert violinists of his time.

The Doctor of Musical Arts program was almost as though it had been tailored to Sherlock's very own interests. The more he read about the program the more he was convinced that it was what he needed. It would take him one step closer to being the very best musician he could be. Eventually he found himself browsing piano courses and performance opportunities.

 _John could get into this program_ easily _. His talent is absolutely unmatched. He would just need help putting together repertoire for his audition, and he'd be golden._

He didn't know how to approach John and tell him that after he'd finally found the courage to confess his feelings, he's decided that he is going to run away to America and never return. That would surely keep the relationship steady.

But he knew that he had to do this. He had to tell John what he was planning to do, no matter how badly it hurt. So, he sent a text.

 **Hello John. I have an important matter to discuss with you at your earliest convenience. Please let me know when you can come over.**

 **I love you. - SH 6:43PM**

He let his phone slip out of his hand and thud against his desk, and he leaned back in his chair, groaning. He threw his hands over his arm over his face. A small part of him wasn't sure why he was so nervous. John would never ever tell him to not go after something he truly wanted.

Maybe that's what made him nervous. John always threw his own feelings under the bus just to make sure that he protected the feelings of others. He was absolutely going to tell Sherlock to chase is dreams and say to hell with his own, and Sherlock hated that.

Eventually his phone went off with John's response.

 **You know I hate when you send me messages like that, Sherlock. I'll be over there in an hour.**

 **I love you too. – John 6:49PM**

Sherlock smiled. It was almost too easy to get under John's skin. Was he the worst boyfriend in the world for doing these things to him constantly? Probably. John still loved him, though. Despite all of his flaws, John still loved him.

"Damnit…" he whispered to himself, his eyes stinging from tears that so desperately wanted to fall. The one good thing he'd managed to grab onto, and soon he was going to have to let him go. How could he do this?

Could he do this? He really didn't know.

As promised, about an hour later there was a knock at Sherlock's door. He opened it to see John, worry hiding behind his smile as he leaned in to hug Sherlock.

"Alright, what is the _important matter_ we need to discuss? You've had me swimming in my own anxiety for the past hour, now."

Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry. I didn't know how else to put it."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Eventually, it was Sherlock who broke it.

"As you're aware, in about six months I'm going to be done with the program at The Royal Academy. And, as you're also aware, I intend to continue my studies and earn a doctorate in musical studies."

"Yes," John responded cautiously. How could he not know where this was going?

"I've found that the program that best meets my needs is at… Julliard."

John's eyes lit up in surprise. " _The_ Julliard? In the States?!"

Sherlock was unsure of how to take his response. "Yes, that is the Julliard."

"Oh Sherlock, that's incredible!" John pulled Sherlock into a tight hug. When they pulled apart again, John was all smiles. But Sherlock could still see the sadness in his eyes. "When do you apply?"

"The application is due in a few weeks. I'll have to travel there for my audition. And then, if I get in—"

"When you get in," John interrupted.

Sherlock blushed slightly as he continued. " _If_ I get in, then… well, I'd have to move. To the United States. And, I'm not entirely sure how many years I would be gone."

John gave Sherlock a sad smile. "Well, obviously I'd miss you like crazy. But Sherlock, this is your life here. You can't put it on hold for anyone. If it's really what you want…" John paused as he took Sherlock's hands into his own. "You have to chase your dreams, Sherlock. For you. For me. For everyone who cares about you."

Sherlock couldn't hold back his tears anymore. As he cried, John pulled him into a tight embrace. He gently combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair, and assured him that everything was going to be alright.

What did Sherlock do to deserve John Watson? The level-headed doctor who always put everyone else above himself. Deep down he knew John was breaking, and Sherlock cursed himself for being the one to cause it. They continued to talk about it for the next week and John never broke. He never caved. In the end, he sat there and pushed the 'Submit Application' button for Sherlock because he insisted that he couldn't do it. His application was submitted. He'd be called for an audition within the following weeks.

How could John throw his own happiness away so easily for those he cared about? He refused to take Molly's position despite wanting so desperately to keep playing music. He insisted that Sherlock apply to Julliard, knowing that they would spend the greater part of these next few years separated from each other.

He was too busy helping others, he never opted to help himself. He was breaking, and Sherlock didn't know how to fix him.


	11. Chapter 11

It felt like John had only pressed that button for him yesterday. Now here Sherlock was, in the London Heathrow Airport, waiting on a flight to the United States. His audition was in a week. He felt the familiar surge of nerves and adrenaline that he'd felt almost four years ago, when he first auditioned for The Royal Academy. This was so much bigger. This was his dream. The program that was designed especially for him. He had to get in. He just had to.

But there was a small voice nagging at him. He was choosing Julliard over John, how could he do this?

 _It isn't one or the other… it is both. I want both. John wants me to have both. It isn't one or the other…_

Sherlock was only pulled from his thoughts when the announcement came on that his flight was beginning the boarding process. He readied his plane ticket and strided towards the gate, unsure of how his legs were carrying him right now. He was really doing this.

He eventually made his way onto the plane and found his seat. He sat down next to a younger gentleman, who looked nothing short of 'I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else-but-here.' Charming. Sherlock had no complaints, though. A stoic, silent seatmate meant that conversation would likely be minimal. Perhaps even nonexistent.

Sherlock pulled out his headphones and pulled up his playlist of repertoire for his audition. He chose Dance of the Goblins as his own piece to showcase. He laughed softly to himself.

 _The first piece I ever played with John… of course I'm playing this one._

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. A few moments later he felt a small tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw the handsome lad next to him, looking like he wanted to ask him a question.

"I beg your pardon, but… are you auditioning for Julliard as well?" he asked, his voice surprisingly soft.

"I am. What gave it away?"

The stranger laughed. "You seem almost as nervous as I am."

Sherlock gave him a soft smile. "Well, at least we know we aren't alone in the nerves department. What is your name, if I may ask?"

"Greg Lestrade. And, well, you're Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged."

"I went to your last concert. You were absolutely phenomenal."

"Thank you. What do you play?"

"Oboe. I'm applying for the undergraduate program at Julliard."

"Best of luck to you, Greg."

"You as well, Sherlock."

They both fell silent and put on their headphones, listening to their respective pieces. They continued conversing on and off between sleeping and eating throughout the flight, and eventually they touched down at the JFK airport in New York. He made his way, barely, to the car rental station, and soon he was on the road headed towards his hotel. He made arrangements for a campus tour the next day, so he had all of today to sleep. Because good heavens, he was going to need it.

When he arrived to his hotel room he immediately flopped onto his bed and pulled out his phone. He texted John

 **I've arrived in New York. I already hate it.**

 **Wish you were here too. -SH 9:45AM**

London was 5 hours ahead this time of year, Sherlock believed. That was one thing he would have to get used to. Time changes. What a stupid idea. Bloody Americans.

 **Glad you got in safe. Have you seen the school yet? -John 9:48AM**

 **Not yet. I'm going on a tour tomorrow. I can send pictures? -SH 9:49AM**

 **Please do! :) Alright, classes starting, I'll text you soon. 3 -John 9:51AM**

Sherlock couldn't help his stupid smile at John's use of emojis. He thought he was the stoic, ever emotionless Sherlock Holmes. Yet here he was, smiling like an idiot because his boyfriend sent him a little heart.

Sherlock threw his phone to the side and laid staring up at the ceiling for what felt like ages.

Eventually his stomach growled something fierce, indicating that he should probably do something about finding food for himself. He pulled out his phone and found the nearest restaurant that would deliver to the hotel. It was a Chinese restaurant. Within the hour Sherlock had eaten his dinner and wrapped himself up in the blankets on his bed, absolutely exhausted. He set his alarm for 7:30 the next morning and fell into an odd sleep.

The next morning, Sherlock was up and dressed and headed for the subway in record time. He arrived at Julliard around 8:15 and made his way inside. It was a truly remarkable building, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't immediately take his breath away. His nonchalant charade was up as soon as he walked in that door. He felt the child in him immediately start jumping with joy. He had been accepted to audition for the graduate program. The school of his dreams. He could hardly wait. It had been so long since he'd felt this longingness in him.

By the end of the day, Sherlock was even more in love with the school than he had already been. The director of the doctorate program had been his guide, and from what Sherlock could tell he was already rather impressed with him. He had told Sherlock they were going to be delighted to hear him audition the next day. He finally showed Sherlock to the area of the school where auditions were taking place; there were several practice rooms opened up and reserved for those auditioning to practice following up to their audition.

The rest of that day passed in a blur, and the next thing Sherlock knew, he was walking on stage, palms sweating. He turned to face the four judges that sat in front of him, pencils and paper on the table in front of them. They were murmuring softly to each other as Sherlock mentally prepared himself.

"Holmes, Sherlock?" The judge on the left called out, her voice sweet. It was as if they'd specifically chosen her so the people who were already nervous wrecks like himself wouldn't up and run off the stage.

"Yes ma'am."

She smiled at him knowingly. Did she recognize him as well?

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Holmes."

He picked up his violin and played. He swore he could hear John just behind him accompanying him. Before he knew it the piece was over and he was bowing before turning and walking off the stage.

He'd… he had never had an audition go so well. Of course, within moments he was spiraling. What if he'd screeched here and there? What if his vibrato was too intense because he was shaking? He hadn't even looked at the judges faces to tell what they were thinking. He was just ready to be done and off of that stage. He knew he played well, but… was it his best? Surely not.

He shakily packed up his instrument and headed back to his hotel room. His flight back to London was tomorrow evening. He shoved everything into his suitcase and fell onto his bed. He texted John. He was _still_ shaking.

 **I auditioned. -SH 3:46pm**

 **How did it go? :) -John 3:49pm**

 **It… went. -SH 3:50pm**

 **I'm sure you played marvelously. You always do. Don't be so hard on yourself, love. -John 3:53pm**

 **I played our piece. -SH 3:54pm**

 **Our piece? -John 3:55pm**

 **The first piece we ever played together. -SH 3:57pm**

John didn't text back for a few moments. Sherlock figured he'd started crying about how romantic it was.

 **Sap. -John 4:00pm**

Yes. Definitely cried over it. Sherlock truly couldn't wait to be back home where he could be anxious in the company of the people he loved.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock's flight touched down in the early morning; about 8. After Sherlock had scrambled his way through customs, he was greeted at the front of the airport by an ever so enthusiastic John. Following him was Molly, who looked equally excited for Sherlock to be back.

God, he had missed them more than he was willing to admit. More than he wanted to admit. What was he supposed to do if he got into Julliard? If he missed them this much after being gone for barely a week, how was he supposed to be away from them for months at a time?

John pulled Sherlock into one of the tightest hugs he had ever given him.

"At this rate, I think you're going to have to take John to Julliard with you," Molly teased.

"If I get in anyway."

"Sherlock Holmes, cut the garbage. You know for a fact you played as well as you always do, and I'm 110% certain that you were already accepted before they asked you to come play. The audition was just a formality," Molly snapped.

"Or," Sherlock began. "I played horribly, and they were so confused at how everyone thinks I'm one of the greatest musicians of my time when I could barely get out a piece as simple as Dance of the Goblins."

"Seriously, Sherlock," John started, giving him a serious look. "You played your best, and I'm sure it was phenomenal. They seeked you _out_. Molly was probably right. They knew they wanted someone as talented like you in their program and the audition was more or less truly a formality. It assured them that you really are that talented and now their minds are made up."

Sherlock gave John a soft smile before they were all ushered towards the exit of the airport.

"I say we go out for a celebratory lunch!" Molly demanded as they clambered into the cab.

"I don't know, Molly. I'm quite exhausted after that trip. I think I'd much rather go home."

Molly's face fell, but she nodded. "Dinner?"

Sherlock smiled and nodded. "Dinner."

Eventually Sherlock clambered through the front door of his flat, followed by John carrying his luggage. Sherlock gently set his violin down on a table and proceeded to flop onto his couch. He felt absolutely miserable, and he had no idea why. Was this what travelling did to people? No wonder he didn't do it much. He was tired and anxious and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in John's arms.

And as though John heard his thoughts, he felt a soft tap on his arm. He opened his eyes to see John staring down at him, eyes soft and concerned.

"Why don't we go lay down on the bed, love? You really look like you could use some real sleep."

Sherlock groaned, but eventually he sat up, and he and John made their way to the bedroom. At this point, usually, Sherlock would be ready to lock lips with that beautiful pianist of his, but he was really in a funk. He snuggled into John's arms and almost immediately fell asleep.

He was awoken by a loud buzzing, followed by a frantic John flapping about to find his phone on the bedside table. Sherlock groaned and rolled away from him. "Why do you _always_ have to set an alarm. Couldn't we one day just take a nap and wake up when we aren't tired any more?"

"Sorry, sorry," John said, finally silencing the alarm. "I just didn't want us to sleep through dinner."

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked.

"3."

"Oh for God's sake, John, I could have slept for a whole other _hour_!" Sherlock cried out, pulling a pillow over his head. John immediately ripped the pillow away.

"Not if we are going out, you can't. Come on, up you get," he said, pulling the covers off of Sherlock as he stood up. "Molly is gonna be here at 5."

Sherlock slowly blinked his eyes open to see John ruffling through the suits hanging up in Sherlock's closet.

"Why… why are you looking through my suits?"

John turned and smiled at him. "It is a celebratory dinner, is it not? We're going to Tapas Brindisa tonight."

Sherlock scoffed. "Angelo won't care if I don't show up in a suit. We go way back."

Suddenly he was smothered with a suit jacket.

"Maybe Angelo won't care, but _I_ will. So go shower and get dressed."

"Will you be joining me in the shower, love?" Sherlock asked, winking playfully. John just rolled his eyes in response.

"If you behave tonight, I'll think about joining you next time."

Sherlock grimaced, but he finally stood up and made his way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. When he finished and made his way back to his bedroom to get dressed, John was no longer there.

 _That's odd_ , he thought. _I wonder where he went_.

Sherlock slowly got the suit on that John had picked out for him. When he decided that he looked presentable, he nodded at his reflection in the mirror and made his way into the sitting room. John had magically reappeared, and he was wearing one of the most handsome suits Sherlock had ever laid eyes on. It was a deep red suit, and as much as the color popped, it really did wonders for John's appearance.

Sherlock realized in that moment that he'd never fully appreciated John in a suit before. Of all the performances they shared together, Sherlock had never actually gotten to stand back and actually _see_ that man wear a suit.

And he had been missing out.

After a few minutes, John stood, concerned. Sherlock had been standing there with his mouth agape for almost a full minute, the color rushing to his cheeks.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?"

Sherlock was only able to muster up a muffled "you look good."

John blushed, but before he could respond his phone began to ring. He picked it up and answered it. A brief "all right, we will be right down," told Sherlock that Molly had arrived, and it was time for them to leave for dinner. John offered Sherlock his hand and he took it, still blushing from their encounter. John couldn't help but laugh at Sherlock's absolute inability to handle a man in a suit.

"I suppose I'll have to keep this in mind for future endeavors?" he teased, causing the blush in Sherlock's cheeks to refresh as they stepped out of the flat and climbed into Molly's car.

The evening was filled with laughter and smiles. Angelo had even given them a discount on their meals; Sherlock had met Angelo a while back. They went to high school together. He'd gone off to culinary school and became a world-class chef in less than two years. He had also showed up to just about every single recital and performance Sherlock had been a part of since he started at the Royal Academy. He was one of the closest friends that Sherlock had ever had, and he regretted that they hadn't been talking as much these days as they used to. He would have to get his number tonight so it would be easier to get in touch.

When John walked in with Sherlock, Angelo absolutely lost his mind. He went on and on about how he knew that Sherlock was going to find some man someday who had the guts to put up with all his pretentious air. He was going to meet his match and it was going to change his life forever.

"Are you a world class psychic now, too?" Sherlock asked, thoroughly unimpressed. Sherlock had just broken up with his girlfriend of 4 years.

"I'm telling you Sherlock, she was never right for you. Girlfriends just aren't your area."

"Great. Thanks, Angelo. Great pep talk."

Sherlock threw back another shot and let his head fall against the bar.

"I think a boyfriend would be more your area."

"No offense Angelo, but I think I would _know_ if I was gay."

"I'm telling you, Sherlock. One day you are going to meet a man that refuses to worship the ground you walk on. And you're going to go absolutely mad for him."

Sherlock simply groaned and ordered another round of shots.

He never would have guessed that he was 100% right. But when he turned and saw John next to him, his eyes lit up with laughter and happiness, he didn't want the world to be any other way.


	13. Chapter 13

Two weeks had passed since Sherlock arrived home from his Julliard audition. And now, sitting in front of him was an envelope from Julliard. He had ripped it open as soon as he pulled it from his mailbox and he stood there, shaking. He immediately texted John, insisting that he come over to his flat as soon as humanly possible. John had texted back in what felt like a text panic that he was on his way.

Sherlock was fidgeting nervously, still mulling over what exactly to say to John. By the time John had arrived, he had only spiraled deeper into the anxiety. He had no clue what to say. Not a single damn clue. Before now, everything was theoretical. But now he had to face John. He had to tell him that this was it. This was the end. Everything that they had built together was going to come crumbling down, and he hated himself for getting so bloody attached. But he couldn't help it… he wanted to be attached. Why couldn't things ever be easy?

"Sherlock, is everything okay?" John called into the flat. He saw Sherlock sitting at the table, practically vibrating with nerves. John approached him quietly. He wasn't entirely sure if Sherlock had even heard him come in.

"Sherlock?" John asked softly, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Love, what's the matter?"

Sherlock let out a deep sigh. "John, I… I received some news today… some news from Julliard."

Sherlock went quiet again, unsure of how to continue.

"Well?" John asked, shaking him slightly. "What's the news? Good news? Bad news?"

Sherlock took a deep breath before turning to John. _This is it. This is the end._

"I've been… I've been accepted."

Sherlock was ripped from his sadness by John absolutely _screeching_ with delight. Sherlock was taken aback with shock, watching John flail about madly before pulling Sherlock into a hug so tight he thought he felt a rib crack. When John pulled away from the hug he was smiling one of the biggest smiles Sherlock had ever seen.

"Sherlock, that's amazing! Absolutely incredible!"

"I know, but… that means I have to leave, John…"

John took Sherlock's hands in his own. "Sherlock, look at me."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes, trying so hard to repress the tears that so desperately wanted to fall. Why was John so willing to let go of his happiness for everyone around him? It was going to eat Sherlock alive.

"Sherlock, this is your _dream_. You can't throw it away. Especially not now that it is guaranteed. I won't let you do that to yourself."

"I don't want to leave you, John-"

"If you go to Julliard… I'll apply for the Royal Academy," John interrupted him.

Sherlock's eyes went wide as he regarded John for several moments. He… he wasn't throwing away his happiness. He was going to go after music. He wasn't going to let everything go. This… maybe this wasn't the end. Maybe this was just the beginning.

"Meeting you is what made me realize that my dream didn't lie in medicine like I thought for so many years… you were right, as you probably usually are… I _don't_ have the same look on my face studying medicine as I do playing the piano."

Sherlock cracked a small smile, but he still seemed unsure.

"And…" John continued, planting a chaste kiss to Sherlock's left hand. "You were also right when you said… it is never too late to chase after your dreams. So, I'm going to chase after my dreams. And I expect you to do the same."

"Don't apply for the Royal Academy," Sherlock blurted out. It was John's turn to look shocked.

"What?"

"Apply for Julliard. Come to the United States with me, John."

John went silent. His hands slowly fell from Sherlock's and he was silent for what seemed like ages. Sherlock's mind was racing. He was already thinking of every piano piece he knew, and he knew that John could play all of them with ease. His audition would be a breeze. A pianist as talented as him had the world at his mercy, all he had to do was show John how to let it all go.

"I… that's one of the most prestigious music schools in the world, Sherlock. I can't… I would never get in."

"If the Royal Academy would take you in a heartbeat, so would Julliard. I know it," Sherlock continued, trying to keep the desperation in his voice to a minimum.

"And school in America is so much more expensive than it is in the United Kingdom, I'd never be able to afford it without a medical job, and I'll never have the time to focus _if_ I have that sort of job. There's no way."

"If your audition is good enough, they will offer you a full scholarship to attend their school, John."

"Yeah, but there is absolutely no way I'll have an audition stellar enough that they'll award _me_ with a scholarship."

"I beg to differ."

"Well, you're a little biased, _boyfriend_."

John laughed and turned to look at Sherlock. He was deadly serious.

"I'm not telling you this as your boyfriend. I'm telling you this as a musician that has played with you and listened to you play countless times."

John blushed furiously, but he still hesitated. "Isn't it too late to audition for this year? You've already auditioned and gotten your acceptance letter. So, the period is over?"

Sherlock smiled. "Not for undergraduate auditions, it isn't."

Sherlock and Greg Lestrade had kept in contact after their initial meeting on the plane. In fact, they became fast friends. Greg was a truly talented oboist, but he didn't have much of a stage presence. But with a little help from Sherlock in those days before his audition, Greg was able to absolutely wow the judges and earn a hefty scholarship for himself. He also learned from Greg that the application period for undergraduate students is longer than it is for graduate, mostly because of the fact that they have students auditioning from all over the world and their schedules tend to be much less flexible. So, John still had about a month to submit his application and get some repertoire together.

John was silent as he listened to Sherlock explaining how auditions would work. He kept shaking his head in disbelief. "There's no way, Sherlock. I… I can't! I can't."

"You can, John. You absolutely can. The only thing stopping you at this point is yourself. But I'm not going to let you stop yourself. I'm going to show you how to open yourself up to the world and show them exactly what you're made of. Because I'll be damned if you aren't the most talented pianist I've ever heard, or met, in my life."

John simply shook his head. "I'm no good, Sherlock. I never will be. I could hardly get my nerves together for deciding to audition for the Royal Academy. An audition at a school like Julliard is just going to send me into a pit I'll never be able to crawl back out of."

With that, John stood up. "Sorry love, I've got a paper due this week. I've got to head home. I'll see you later?"

Sherlock stood too and planted a chaste kiss on John's cheek. "Don't lose hope, John Watson."


	14. Chapter 14

Well, apparently Sherlock really had his ideas. Because no matter how John insisted that this wasn't going to work, here they were. Less than 24 hours after their talk, John's information was already filled out for the undergraduate piano program at Julliard. Sherlock's hand was on his as they pressed the 'Submit Application' button together. John was absolutely shaking. Sherlock held him close, insisting that everything was going to be alright. In the meantime, he helped John start piecing together potential pieces for his audition. He was in constant contact with Greg, asking him all sorts of questions about how the audition process went. He was going to have to submit a video of his prospective live audition piece before he was even called for a live audition. John was growing more and more nervous by the minute, but Sherlock was certain that this was all going to work.

After a few days of John refamiliarizing himself with the piece, Sherlock began packing his tripod and camera each time they went to the Academy to practice. He gave John pointers here and there on ways to stop thinking about the camera recording him, but it never seemed to work. Sherlock took a few pages from his own book of experience and opted to just leave the camera recording the whole time. Sometimes there was a spectacular run amidst all the frustration and cursing of mistakes.

And John was easily one of the most talented pianists he's ever met, so he was bound to have one of these spectacular runs any moment. Truthfully speaking, it seemed the only thing that was keeping John from Julliard at this point was himself. His nerves were getting the best of him, and it seemed to be getting worse with each passing practice.

Today they had been trying for almost two hours to get a recording, but John simply couldn't keep himself composed for it. In a fit of frustration, he slammed his hands down on the keys and groaned. "I can't do it Sherlock. I should just withdraw my application. If I can't even do an audition video, how the _hell_ am I supposed to play with these people staring at me?"

Sherlock walked over to John and planted a kiss on the top of his head. "Take five minutes and clear your head, love. I'm going to run and grab a drink."

With that, Sherlock grabbed his phone and left the room. He was indeed thirsty, but the drink was going to have to wait. There is one thing Sherlock knew about John, and that was that he always played better on his own. It needed to be worked on, sure. But… for the live audition, it was exactly what Sherlock needed.

Within minutes, he heard John playing the piece they'd just been filming… absolutely perfectly. Sherlock mentally patted himself on the back. He never mentioned to John that he left the camera recording at all times. His eyes flipped to the camera, and the blinking red dot assured him that it was in fact still recording. As quietly as he could, Sherlock moved to stand in the doorway, beaming with pride as he watched John play. Before he knew it, John reached the end of the piece, and from what he could tell, he hadn't made a single mistake. Sherlock walked back into the room, empty handed with a giant smirk on his face. John immediately gave him a raised eye brow.

"Sherlock Holmes, what have you done?"

Sherlock gestured to the tripod and smiled bigger. "I just got you your ticket to the live audition, sweetheart."

John immediately blushed. "You were secretly filming me the _whole time_? How did I not notice?!"

"Because you were _focused on the music_ , not the audience!" Sherlock exclaimed, spinning about the room. "That's the key, John. You just need to get lost in your music. Let everything go. Just close your eyes and let the piano do the playing for you! If you play like that at your audition, I guarantee you'll get the biggest scholarship they have to offer."

They submitted John's video to admissions, and it took hours for John to finally stop shaking.

Later that night, John laid awake in the bed, unable to fall asleep.

"Sherlock, what is going to happen if I don't get called for the live audition."

Sherlock sighed. "Well, before I go into it, might I remind you that this is completely theoretical and I guarantee that you are going to get called in for a live audition. But, if you somehow _don't_ then you just keep fighting for your dream. I'll tell you something I've never told anyone before, John… I used to be just like you."

John rolled over to face Sherlock. "What do you mean by that? Is this going to insult me?" he asked, his voice flat.

Sherlock shook his head as he reached out and grabbed John's hands. "I always doubted myself. My brother Mycroft was a violinist too, and he was leagues better than me. We had started playing around the same time, but he just picked everything up so quickly. I always felt like I was in the shadow of everyone who was better than me, and I was always afraid of their criticisms. So, when I played, that's what I sounded like. Talented, but afraid of letting go."

"Hold on, you have a brother?!" John exclaimed, interrupting him. "How did I not know this?"

Sherlock went silent. " _Had_ a brother. He died a few years ago in an accident. I had a sister too. Her name was Eurus, and she was a phenomenal violist. She also…had a tragic passing."

"Oh…" John breathed, unsure of how to respond. "I'm… I'm very sorry, love."

"I was like you until I lost them. And that showed me that life is fleeting, and life is _precious_. You never know when you are going to get snuffed out. So, you can't live with regrets, and you can't hesitate. So, I stopped hesitating. I play each performance as though it is going to be my last. Because if it is my last, I don't want it to be a performance that I will regret giving. I don't want any performance to be less than my absolute best that I am capable of doing at the time. I always let go and just fall into the music. Because music is my beginning and my end, and I always want to remember it as such. Not something that I could have been, but something that I _was_."

John remained silent as he regarded Sherlock's statements. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to fall into the music as well as you do. I haven't been totally immersed in it like you have."

Sherlock pulled John towards him and gave him a soft kiss. "You will get there. We're going to get you there. You're so talented, John. You just have to let everything go, and dive into it with your whole heart. I've heard you play with your heart before, and it was absolutely breath taking. I know that you have it in you."

"I believe in you."

As though that was a cue, John fell into wrecked sobs and burrowed into Sherlock's embrace. And that's when he was certain that this was truly the beginning of something wonderful. John's life was going to change, and he was going to realize what incredible talent he truly possessed.


	15. Chapter 15

Sure enough, the school was absolutely delighted to offer John a live audition. He scheduled it for a month from the day, and now the rehearsals began. That was the good thing about the audition. He sent in a snippet of his chosen piece and played the piece in its entirety during the live audition. John had chosen the first movement Chopin's Sonata number 2 in B-flat minor. It was a truly stunning piece, and John could play it _flawlessly_ when Sherlock wasn't watching him as intensely as he was now. John was getting increasingly flustered, and eventually Sherlock stopped him for a third time.

"You're playing too strictly with the tempo, John. Remember, they'll have already seen that you have technical talent, so they're going to want to see more personal flair than mastery with the piece."

John slammed his fists onto the piano keys. "God, when did you become the piano master too?!"

Sherlock stood up and walked over to John and wrapped his arms around him. "Deep breaths, love. You're playing wonderfully. You just need to _let go_."

"Let go of what?!" John shouted, standing up from his seat. Sherlock took a step back, flinching slightly at how angry John was. "I have nothing to let go of Sherlock, I don't know what you're telling me to do!"

"The anxiety, John. The nerves. The mind racing. The heart pounding. I need you to clear your head and only think about the piano that's in front of you and the Chopin that you are playing. Who gives a damn if you make a mistake? If you put your heart into it, it is going to sound flawless no matter what!"

"Well, we don't all have tragic backstories and dead brothers to think about when we're playing our instruments."

Sherlock's breath hitched, and John immediately regretted what he'd said.

"Damnit, Sherl, I'm sorry… shit…"

"No… no, you're right," Sherlock said, his voice quivering. "You aren't going to be able to learn to let go the way I did. We are in completely different circumstances. I'm sorry."

John sighed and let his head fall into his hands. " _Please_ don't apologize to me when I just lashed out at your _dead sibling_."

Sherlock walked back over to his chair and slumped down into it. "Let's just take some deep breaths and start over. You don't have a great tragic loss of a sibling. But what do you have?"

"A fat mouth," John muttered, sitting back down himself.

Sherlock chuckled. "Besides that."

John sat quietly for a moment. He looked up at Sherlock.

"I have you," he said softly, and Sherlock regarded him with surprise.

"You are the one who brought me back into the music world. You… you revived me when I thought I was long gone."

Sherlock couldn't help his smile and his blush. "Okay, we can work with that. Don't think about everyone watching you. Just think about… think about me. Think about all of our performances together. What did you think about then?"

It was John's turn to blush. "I thought about how breath-taking you looked playing your violin."

Sherlock's blush deepened, but he stood up and clapped his hands together. "Just think about that. Think about me playing with you. How calm you feel, how masterfully you play the instrument in front of you. Think of that and let everything else go."

John nodded and took a deep breath. He took note of the first few measures of the piece and closed his eyes. He played the first few notes. They were soft and melancholy; a complete contrast from what was to come. Suddenly the world was melting away around him and all he could hear was the music. He couldn't even tell if he was moving or if he was hearing the piece in the back of his mind.

Sherlock sat and watched in complete amazement. He didn't know _what_ was happening, but John was playing like a true master.

 _Yes_ , he thought. _This is it. This is what you sound like. This is the musician that you are, John. Embrace it._

After reaching the end of the piece, John turned to Sherlock, looking out of breath. "Would you like me to run through it again?"

Sherlock waved his hands and stood up. "Absolutely not. That was phenomenal. Let's call it a day, you should rest your hands after a run like that."

John nodded and stood shakily from the piano. Sherlock gave him a once over. "Did it really wear you out that much, love?"

John shrugged. "You told me to let go, so I did."

Sherlock chuckled and followed the smaller man into the other room.

Before the two of them knew it, the day came. They threw their bags into the back of a taxi and shared hugs with Molly and Mike.

"Oh, John, you're going to be lovely! I just know it. You've always had the air of a true musician about you!" Molly exclaimed, pulling him into one of the tightest hugs she'd ever given him.

John smiled and hugged her back tighter. "You've always been my number one fan. Thank you for everything, Molly."

Sherlock checked his watch. "We should get going. We don't want to be too late."

John gave him a curt nod before climbing into the back of the taxi. They rolled down the window and waved frantic goodbyes to their friends.

The flight was as boring and uneventful as most people would expect an 8-hour flight to be. John didn't speak much. He had his headphones on for 90% of the journey and his hands ghosted over an invisible keyboard in front of him. Sherlock occasionally gave him encouraging smiles, but they shared no conversation. He was given similar treatment through landing and traveling to the exit of the airport. Sherlock hailed a taxi and threw luggage into the back once again as John absentmindedly climbed into the back of the taxi.

And now here they were in the United States. Sherlock let his head fall back against the seat and he closed his eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep within the past few days, and he was in desperate need. He was going to have to get used to flying, because he knew that Molly would be demanding he come visit at least once a week once he started his courses at Julliard.

He and John checked into their hotel room. John's nerves had been increasingly intensifying since they got on the plane at Heathrow, and seeing as Sherlock couldn't even seem to get his attention, all of his attempts to calm him down were failing.

John fell back onto the bed and let out a frustrated groan. "I don't know why I agreed to let you drag me into this, Sherlock. There's no way I can do this… I'm just going to make a fool of myself."

John had been pacing the hotel room until this point. He had just barely removed the headphones from his head since they first boarded the plane back in London. Sherlock was sat down on the bed, watching John intensely.

"My love, you must calm down. You're going to do wonderfully at your audition. You just have to keep calm. Remember; think of what you were thinking of during the last few practice sessions. Think of how you feel playing with me. Think about getting completely absorbed into the instrument and the music."

At this point, Sherlock stood up and walked over to where John was laid down. He dropped himself down so he was hovering above him. He leaned down and stole a kiss before pushing himself back up. John was looking off to the side. He used one hand to pull John's face towards him. "Love, look at me."

John blinked slowly before looking up into Sherlock's eyes. "You're talented, you're more than capable. Believe in yourself, John. You're the only one who doesn't at this point. _Believe in yourself_."

John's eyes fell closed as silent tears began to fall from his eyes. "I can't… I'm not good enough for this, Sherlock. I never should have done this. I can't do this."

Sherlock rolled off of John and pulled him up so they were both standing. He cupped his face and gave him soft kisses on his cheeks and his forehead. "John Watson I've never met a more talented pianist in my life, and if this school decides that you're not good enough then neither am I."

Before John could protest Sherlock pulled him in for another kiss. When they broke away, John looked at Sherlock with sad eyes. "Sherlock. You can't be serious."

Sherlock stared back at John with an intensity that he'd never seen before. "John, I have no interest in attending a school that is unable to see what immense talent you possess. I could just as well attend a graduate program somewhere closer to home in London."

"No, no, Sherlock. No matter what happens here, you cannot let that sway your decision." It was John's turn to cup Sherlock's face. "This is your _dream_ , love. This is everything you've ever wanted."

"No, John. _You're_ everything I've ever wanted."

John leaned up and kissed Sherlock on his forehead. "We'll always find a way back to each other Sherlock. You can't give up Julliard if I don't make it. Please, promise me. Promise me this."

Sherlock pulled away from John and walked towards the window of the hotel room. "We'll discuss this more later, John. Right now, let's focus on you and your audition."

John let out a deep sigh. Before he could formulate any sort of response, Sherlock whipped around with a sudden change in attitude. "Come, come. The practice rooms are open for auditionees to use." Before John could protest, Sherlock had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the hotel room.

The end of the day didn't come soon enough and eventually John was climbing into bed, his body wrecked from nerves and exhaustion. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough to tempt sleep to overtake him. He fell in and out of consciousness and cursed the alarm that went off in the morning. He stood up and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes the best he could.

Sherlock dragged him to breakfast and back to Julliard for some last-minute practice. However, Sherlock demanded that he stop practicing an hour before his audition to let his body rest.

"When you're next up, it will be good to warm-up but there is no sense in full intensity practicing at this point. This is as good as you're going to play for the audition."

Sherlock planted a soft kiss on John's head. "And, might I add, you're playing it flawlessly. So, you really have nothing to be worried about."

Before he knew it, John's audition was upon him. He waited nervously outside of the audition stage. He was pacing back and forth again, twiddling his thumbs.

"Love, you're going to play wonderfully," he whispered, kissing him softly on the forehead.

Sherlock jumped in front of John and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Deep breaths, love. Deep breaths."

"Watson, John. Your audition is next."

John turned to the source of the voice before whipping back to Sherlock, eyes filled with panic.

Sherlock used his hands to motion a deep breath in and out. He mouthed 'I love you' and ushered John towards the stage.

John walked on legs that felt like jelly. He wasn't even sure how they were carrying him at this point. He followed the man who'd called his name to the stage entrance. He went from the bright fluorescence of the hall to the ultra-violet lit backstage. He could see the piano placed on the stage. At some point the man in front of him stopped and turned to him. John stopped as well until the man ushered him forwards.

Suddenly he was awash in the bright lights of the stage. He stepped towards the piano, and time felt like it had slowed to a stop. His palms were sweating profusely, and he could hear his heart beat in his head. He sat at the piano and felt his breath coming in short, rapid breaths.

"Whenever you're ready, Mr. Watson," came a voice from the judges' table. John gave a curt nod, but he wasn't sure if they'd even seen. After what felt like ages, John raised his shaking hands to the piano keys and he began to play.


	16. Chapter 16

He couldn't believe the sound he'd just made. He was pretty sure his hands had pressed down nowhere near where his first chords were supposed to be. He panicked and ripped his hands away from the keys.

 _No… this is some nightmare. I did_ not _just do that in front of the judges that are in charge of deciding whether or not I get into this bloody school_.

John looked up to see the judges talking amongst themselves and giving him confused looks. The same judge who had spoken earlier spoke again. "Why don't you take a deep breath and try again, Mr. Watson."

John shook his head and stood up, bowing to the judges. "I'm so sorry for wasting your time," he blurted out before running off the stage. He ran right past Sherlock who was trying to stop him. He just kept running until he found a restroom and he locked himself in it. His heart was pounding relentlessly, it was all he could hear. He felt himself heaving with every breath.

 _What made you think you could do this? You couldn't even record yourself. Damn, John, why the hell did you give up the doctor route_ …

Sherlock turned ran off the stage and over to the judge's seats where they still sat, dumbfounded.

"I don't understand…" the first judge said again. "His recording was absolutely phenomenal. This can't be the same pianist."

"Pardon me, madam, but please allow me to speak to you on Mr. Watson's behalf. I can assure you that he is nothing but pure talent. Please just let me talk to him and I know that I can get him back on the stage and he'll play perfectly."

The judge shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes, but we have several other auditions to get through today. Mr. Watson's time slot is almost up," she remarked, emphasizing the comment with a glance down at the watch on her wrist. "If you can't get him out here in the next ten minutes, I'm afraid we're going to have to mark him as a no show."

"I'll get him out here. Please, I promise you that you'll be making a grave mistake by not considering him for your program."

The judge clasped her hands and leaned forward. She regarded Sherlock stern eyes. "I hope you can prove yourself correct, Mr. Holmes. This may not reflect well on your own admission if they knew you were trying to bribe judges on the behalf of another applicant."

Sherlock met her gaze with equal intensity. "I'm not bribing anyone, I'm simply speaking the truth. And you'll be eating those words once you hear him play."

The judge gave a curt nod and leaned back in her seat, returning her focus to the other judges next to her. Sherlock turned around and bolted backstage and towards where John had gone. He ran down the hall to the men's restroom and opened it gently, listening. He heard gentle sniffling coming from inside.

"John?" he asked cautiously, walking into the restroom and letting the door close behind him. "It's me, love. Please talk to me. What happened?"

John choked back a sob, hugging into himself tighter. He stood in the stall, afraid of moving. He felt absolutely nauseous and was sure that any sudden motion would cause him to vomit. "I'm not good enough, Sherlock. I never should have come here. I should have stayed in London and applied for a position as a doctor like I'd always planned. I was never cut out for this music nonsense!"

Sherlock brought a hand to his face, sighing. He had to think of something, _anything_ that would get John back on that stage. "You know that isn't true. You bleed and sweat natural talent, John. You're holding yourself back from your own destiny."

Those immediately felt like the wrong words to say, but Sherlock couldn't stop himself from blurting them out.

John's hand flew out against the side of the stall he was in. He took in shaky breaths. He tried to do the breathing exercises that Sherlock had taught him, but it was no use. He didn't want to lash out at Sherlock, but he was the only one here. "It isn't my destiny, Sherlock! It's the one that you designed for me. I never asked for this!"

 _No…_ he thought to himself. _It isn't Sherlock's fault. This is all me. I made a mistake. I should have just stayed in London and finished medical school. It isn't too late… I haven't withdrawn from Bart's yet. I can still make it. I can still back out._

He slid down with his back against the wall, sobbing harder. "I never asked to meet you, Sherlock. Damnit, I never _wanted_ to meet you. You were always this smarmy, uptight git that I heard horror stories about from Molly. I never expected you to be this ethereal being. Perfection incarnate. I never expected to be sucked back into this… _music_ thing. I knew I wasn't good enough, that's why I stopped playing! I was never going to be good enough to make a career out of this."

John took another shaky breath.

"And then I had to meet you. The _one_ person on this planet who could actually make me believe, just for a _second_ …"

The next words out of John's mouth were barely a whisper, but they ripped through Sherlock's ears like a scream. "That I might actually have a bloody goddamn shot at this."

Sherlock sighed and fell back against the bathroom wall. The silence that fell upon the room was suffocating.

 _I have to get John back on that stage. We're running out of time_.

"John, the first day I saw you. The first day I heard you play. Do you remember what I told you?"

Silence. More suffocating, _excruciating_ silence.

After what felt like eons, he heard John take a shaky breath. "You… you said the Royal Academy would take me…"

"In a _heartbeat_." Sherlock emphasized. "Do you know why, John? Because you put everything you've got into that piano when you're sat in front of it. I've never seen anything like it. And I know for damn sure those judges haven't either, because they're out there waiting for you to come back on stage and try again."

John's breath hitched. "They… they're waiting? But I stormed off… surely they would have marked me down as disqualified or something."

"They're pulling for you, John. They're playing indifference, but I can see it in the disappointment in their eyes. They all saw your recorded audition. They all _know_ how talented you are. They just need you to go out there and sit at that piano and play like you always do. They're waiting for you to blow them away."

Sherlock laughed and let his head fall back against the cool tiles on the wall, his smile distant, but full of joy. "That's what you do best, isn't it? You always blow everyone away."

Sherlock heard a scuffling as John stood up and opened up the stall, stepping out of it on shaky legs. Sherlock launched himself off of the floor and ran to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Go out there and show them that you're the best damn pianist they've ever seen."

John took several shaky breaths before giving Sherlock a curt nod. He left the bathroom and walked back towards the stage with a quivering purpose. He walked out towards the piano and made no regards towards the judges. No words were spoken, no eye contact was made. He hardly even peaked out of the corner of his eye towards the judges table. Instead he cleared his throat as he sat down at the piano bench again. He took a deep breath, and let his hands fall onto the keys that were so familiar to him.

 _Alright, Chopin. It's just you and me… Let's bloody do this and be done with it._

Without missing a beat, John took off. And it was as though the music was playing itself and jumping right off of the page. John moved with such passion and rigor that he'd never felt himself use before. What was happening now? What was so different?

 _They're waiting for you to blow them away._

 _You always blow everyone away._

Sherlock had walked quietly into the backstage area. He looked out at the judges. John's time was well up, but they weren't stopping him. Instead they watched in complete awe, probably unsure of how this was still the same pianist in front of them. He felt tears of pride well in his eyes as he watched John playing. He didn't know if he had lit a fire in John or if this was a long time coming, but whatever had happened he thanked whatever deity that was watching over them for it. Because he wasn't sure he'd ever heard John play like this before. Even though he was alone in the center of that large stage, he owned it as though he were a full symphony orchestra. The auditorium was filled with such incredible sounds that he'd never heard before.

John reached the end of the piece. He let his hands slowly retract from the keyboard and he sighed as though he'd been holding his breath throughout the entirety of the piece. He stood, bowed, and hastily made his way off of the stage. He immediately fell into Sherlock's embrace with tears streaming from his eyes. Sherlock's eyes flicked back to the judge's table. They furiously scribbled down notes as they discussed. They were all wearing impressed smiles.

 _By God, you've done it, John Watson. You've really gone and done it._

"What the hell just happened, Sherlock?"

Sherlock beamed with pride as he turned away from the judges and looked into John's eyes. They were full of fear, excitement, adrenaline, happiness, misbelief.

Most of all, they were tired. Exhausted.

"You blew them away. That's what the hell just happened."

Sherlock wrapped a steady arm around John's waist and escorted him from the stage. He was sure that he wasn't going to be able to walk for the next hour or so with all that adrenaline running through him. Sherlock walked the two of them outside and hailed a cab that they immediately fell into. Within seconds, John was snoring against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock smiled at him softly.

 _I'm so proud of you, John. I couldn't be more proud._

They made it back to the hotel without much issue and Sherlock shook John awake. He leaned heavily on Sherlock again as they hobbled up to their hotel room. John immediately fell into the mattress and passed out. Sherlock couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him. He pulled the shoes off of John's feet and cast them aside before removing his own shoes.

He wandered over to his suitcase and pulled out a pair of jeans and a casual jumper. He'd never been so ready to get out of a suit in his life. He just wanted the two of them to be able to relax again, at least for a little while. Now that they were both awaiting serious decisions from Julliard, he knew the peace wouldn't last.

But even a day's worth of peace would be more than enough. Sherlock just wanted to see John's eyes bright and happy beyond the piano keys.

 _Poor man's been exhausted for the past month or so… I'm glad he can sleep peacefully now_.


	17. Chapter 17

John eventually woke up. He rubbed his eyes as he slowly sat up. He scanned the dark room and was sure that he didn't see Sherlock anywhere. He stood up and slowly made his way across the hotel room to the bathroom. He turned on the light to find it empty. His brow furrowed, and he turned back around and walked towards the bed. There was a note left on the table.

 _John,_

 _Went to get some dinner. I'll be back shortly!_

 _S.H._

John grunted in understanding and walked back over to the bed, flopping down on it. He couldn't believe the roller coaster of a day it had been. He went from overloading on levels of anxiety to sleeping for what must have been four or five hours. He was pretty sure it was still light outside when he'd fallen asleep, and they'd gotten back to the hotel pretty early in the afternoon. He fished his phone out of his pocket and began to absentmindedly scroll through various apps. Within a few moments Sherlock struggled through the hotel door. John looked up at him and was met with a scowl.

"New York is hard," he muttered, letting the door slam behind him. He set the food down on the table and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to John. "Maybe Julliard was my worst idea yet."

John couldn't help bursting out into laughter. Sherlock whipped around to face him, regarding him with shock at first. He wanted to scowl at his boyfriend laughing at his misfortune, but his face quickly lit up into excitement, betraying him.

"Oh, it's so lovely to hear your laugh again. I thought you'd lost it."

"I can't help it," John muttered between chuckles. "You'd think growing up in London would have made it easy for you to adjust to the big apple."

Sherlock visibly cringed. " _Please_ don't go American on me. Just call it New York City. And, this is _nothing_ like London. Everything is everywhere, _all the time_!" he shouted, standing up and throwing his arms into the air for emphasis. "How do people live like this?"

John stood up and leapt over to Sherlock's side, planting a kiss on his temple. "Easy does it, love. Why don't we eat some dinner? You went through all that trouble just to get it." John finally stood, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should have woken me up. I could have gone with you to help."

Sherlock waved John off as he turned back towards the food. "You needed the sleep more than I needed help. I'm glad I left you. You seem much more rested now than you've been in weeks."

John smiled. "I will admit, just having the audition over and done with is a huge relief. I can't believe what a fool I made of myself though…"

"Ah, ah, ah, don't you dare start with that nonsense," Sherlock started matter-of-factly. "You played phenomenally, and they didn't even stop you at the end of your time slot. They _wanted_ to hear you play. Nobody there thought anything of you other than the fact that you were probably the most amazing pianist to ever grace that stage."

John blushed as he sat down at the table. "You're giving me way too much credit, Sherl. I ran off the stage a crying mess, remember? No matter how well I did the second time, I'm sure they're going to take that into consideration."

Sherlock shook his head ferociously as he began serving dinner. "Trust me, they make minimal judgements based on those kinds of criteria. Everyone gets nervous at auditions. But the fact that you were able to shake nerves of that intensity and play as phenomenally as you did is what they're going to remember."

Sherlock smiled at John. "But if we're being honest, I think they already had your acceptance confirmation in hand before you ever walked out on stage."

John scoffed. "I think you're thinking of yourself, Mr. Prodigy. I'm not exactly a world-renowned pianist here."

Sherlock smirked at him. "Not yet, you aren't"

John rolled his eyes. "You flatter me."

Sherlock shrugged, turning his attention back to the food he was in the middle of serving. "Even then, it doesn't matter if you're world-renowned or not. Your recorded audition made an excellent first impression and they fought for you with all they had. They know you're a special one, John Watson. And they know it would be a grave mistake to wave you off as an average musician."

John shook his head, slowly nibbling on the food in front of him. "I just don't understand how you see that in me, Sherlock. I really don't."

Sherlock let the utensils he was holding fall from his hands and land with a crash on the table. He slammed his palms down, trying to hold back his frustrations with how little John thought of himself. "John, the way you played today… there are some professionals that still can't feel the music that deeply, with that level of intensity!"

He threw his hands up in the air before slamming them back down and almost lunging across the table, getting himself even closer to John. "The way you play once you've lost yourself in the piece is something the greats can only _hope_ that they'll achieve within their career. Within their lifetime. You have something incredibly special, and they saw that."

He made sure to emphasize his points by prodding John in the chest as he spoke. It wasn't until Sherlock focused in on the look of utter shock John was giving him that Sherlock realized he'd practically leapt across the table full of food. He slowly pulled himself back, bringing a closed fist up to his face and clearing his throat.

"My apologies. Here, let's eat. It's been a long day for both of us."

Sherlock sat down, smoothing the wrinkles out of his jumper, the embarrassment apparent on his face with his cheeks flushed as red as a tomato. John couldn't help the smile that decorated his face.

"I appreciate it, Sherlock. How hard you fight for me to see what you see in me. I…"

It was John's turn to flush a bright pink as he looked down at his lap, twiddling his fingers. "I love you so much, Sherlock… I've no idea what I'd do without you."

John returned his attention to his food. He couldn't suppress the wild grin on his face. He hadn't realized just how busy the two of them had been. He hadn't realized how much…

God, he missed Sherlock so much.

Without thinking, John hoisted himself out of his seat and found a new one in the seat of Sherlock's lap. The brunet looked up at him, his face colored completely with a shocked blush.

"J-John? What… what are you doing?"

Without saying a word, John cupped Sherlock's face and brought him into a feverish kiss.

"S'been too long, Sherl… I'm sorry. I missed you."

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. They stayed glued to each other for what couldn't have been more than a couple minutes, their tongues finding their way into each other's mouths, gasping for whatever air they could get between kisses. Eventually they broke away, each of them panting, desperate for air.

"My love," Sherlock began, still trying to regain his breath. "As much as I really… _really_ would love to continue this endeavor with you, I'm _so_ hungry. And you know that I never say that."

John nodded, before planting one last kiss on Sherlock's lips. "Hurry up and eat then so I can get you in _bed_."

Sherlock shivered at the huskiness of the command. It had been a very, _very_ long time since the two of them had found any time to be intimate. But, the hot and heavy atmosphere simmered down as they finished dinner and got changed into their night clothes. Sherlock had almost thought John had forgotten all about the little encounter he instigated. That was, until the lights had gone out and Sherlock found himself pinned beneath John's unforgiving grip.

Needless to say, their nightclothes had ended up strewn across the floor of the hotel, forgotten by the two men as they spent the night consumed by the embrace of the other.

John was the first to wake up the next morning, stretching until his spine popped. Sherlock groaned next to him, stirring himself.

"God, I hate it when you crack your back. Couldn't you have gone to do that elsewhere?"

John grunted and rolled over to face the complaining gentleman. "We all have our flaws. Even you, Mr. Perfection."

Sherlock chuckled at the latest variation of his nickname. "You said it, not me."

The two men slowly but surely got themselves out of bed and dressed. Their plane for London left at 8 in the evening, which meant that they had just enough time to pack up their things, check out of the hotel, and grab breakfast before they had to be at the airport.

After they had their things successfully packed into a cab, Sherlock pulled out his phone and did a search of nearby restaurants. They settled on a small diner a few blocks away from the hotel. They settled into their seats and pulled out the menu when they were approached by their waitress, who was… singing to them.

She happily took their orders for their drinks and danced off. John and Sherlock exchanged looks. Sherlock looked thoroughly displeased, but John couldn't help but be amused.

"Perhaps the diner located on Broadway wasn't the best option for Mr. Hoity-Toity violinist," he teased, elbowing Sherlock in the side. Sherlock grumbled something about how he'd have a serving of waffles and shoved his closed menu across the table, crossing his arms over his chest like an upset child.

John reveled in the amusements of the singing waiters and waitresses as Sherlock sat fuming next to him. Luckily, both of the men and the diner staff lived through the morning, and they left the diner, luggage in hand, and hailed a cab to the JFK airport. They climbed into the cab, and the ride was uncomfortably silent for the first few moments, until Sherlock finally spoke for the first time since entering the diner.

"Are you sure Julliard's for you, John?" Sherlock asked. "We could pursue graduate studies at home, where the waitresses don't sing everything about the pile of pancakes they've just put down in front of you."

John simply shook his head. "This was _your_ idea, you know."

Sherlock shrunk back in his seat, his scowl deepening. "Bloody Americans."

For once, everything ran smoothly at the airport. They'd made it through security easily enough, and they found a pizza place in the airport to grab lunch before they made their way to the gate. John had remained pretty silent after their brief conversation in the cab, but Sherlock felt no reason to break the silence. They were both still thoroughly exhausted from everything that had been happening, and it was more than enough to be all encompassed by each other's silence.

And when 7:30pm rolled around, Sherlock wore he had never been so happy to board a plane in his life. He'd spent too much time away from London as of late. It was really going to be incredibly difficult to get used to life in New York City. Everything really… was everywhere. _All_ the time.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, praying that sleep would wash over him and he would be back in London sooner. Out of the corner of his eye he caught John lightly bobbing his head to a song playing through his headphones. His eyes were shut, and a soft smile rested on his face. Sherlock was delighted at the sight. He remembered how tense he'd been throughout the whole flight to the United States.

 _I think this is the first I've seen him truly relaxed since we taped his video audition to submit._

Sherlock let the knowledge that his lover was finally finding some peace amongst the inner turmoil of all the changes in his life allowed him to find some sleep after all.


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock had never been the type to be dramatic. Though, he seemed to be the only one who thought so. He practically kissed the ground when they landed in the Heathrow airport. They were greeted by an ever-ecstatic Molly and Mike, who were anxiously awaiting any and all news about what transpired in the colonies. As tired as John was, he couldn't refuse sitting down to an early brunch with his two dearest friends to tell them about everything that had happened. Sherlock, on the other hand, was more than happy to turn down the invitation. John gave him a pleading look, but he finally gave up when he realized that there was no keeping Sherlock away from his home bed any longer. So, they hopped into two separate cabs. John, Mike, and Molly headed for the boys' flat, and Sherlock headed for his own flat on Baker Street.

They found themselves not actually heading out to eat for at least another two hours after they'd arrived at John's and Mike's flat. Molly had so many questions about Julliard, and John was winded by the time he'd answered her third question.

"Did you run into any other pianists? Did you hear them play? I'm sure none of them were as good as you, though."

John chuckled. "You give me too much credit. Oh, you guys, I was an absolute _disaster_."

John groaned and let his head fall into his hands. "For starters, I played a _wrong chord_ at the start."

Molly gasped, and her hands shot up to cover her mouth. "Sorry," she spoke softly before returning her hands to cover her mouth. She nodded to encourage John to continue.

"And then I just… up and left. I thought I was done for, but… Sherlock came and found me. He'd said that the judges… the judges were waiting for me," John said, his voice still full of disbelief. "I mean, can you really believe that? The judges were waiting for me to come back and finish my audition? Instead of moving on to the next applicant? First of all, I don't think that's allowed? Second of all, why would they break protocol for me of all people?"

Molly shook her head, smiling. "Oh, John, you'll never get it, will you? You're more fascinating than you'll ever be willing to admit."

John shook his head.

"She's right, you know," Mike said, a proud smile on his face. "You do everything that you've ever done exceedingly well, John. I really don't know how you do it. I don't know how you get up every day and put 110% into everything."

John was blushing now at the high praise his friends were giving him. "You both truly flatter me. I'm no better than anyone else."

"Oh, come _on_ , John!" Molly cried out. "For once in your life, let yourself admit that you're extraordinary!"

A rumbling in John's stomach brought his attention back to the time. It was just after noon.

"Oh, that diner a few blocks down is open now if you all want to go grab some lunch," Mike said. Molly and John both frantically agreed, and the three of them set out in search of the next cab. They spent brunch talking ever-so-slightly less about John, upon his request, and more about what Molly and Mike had been up to while he was away for the past week.

"Everyone back at Bart's is rooting for ya, John," Mike started. "But I tell you what, feels like you were gone for ages. It's really hard on the rest of us when the smartest kid in our class decides he's always wanted to be a world class pianist instead of a doctor."

John chuckled. "I'm sure you all managed."

Mike nodded his head. "I got the notification for graduation a few days ago. I've… I've really done it."

John nodded excitedly. "Oh, I got that too! Boy, it sure is going to look weird to have an M.D. entering an undergraduate program for music, isn't it?"

Mike shrugged. "Who cares? If it's your dream, there's no time limit or degree requirements, right?"

Molly nodded excitedly. "And, you could always be a part-time doctor to make extra spending money! Since you're gonna have a full ride to Julliard and everything."

John shook his head. "I'm telling you, you guys are hyping me up for nothing spectacular. After that audition, I… I'll be lucky if they even do a double-take at my application."

Molly and Mike both scoffed at him, insisting that he was being way to hard on himself. John simply shrugged.

"We'll know soon enough. I auditioned so late in the season, decision letters are going to be sent out within the month. Sherlock will have his even sooner than mine."

They continued to excitedly chatter over lunch, without a care in the world. But back at Sherlock's flat, his entire world was falling apart. He knelt on the ground, tears falling from his eyes onto the paper that he held in shaking fists.

He kept rereading the first paragraph over and over again, willing it to not be true.

 _We regret to inform you that you have not been chosen for admittance to the graduate program at The Julliard School. If you have any questions regarding your audition or our decision, do not hesitate to reach out to the admissions office. We wish you well in your future pursuit of the arts._

…

More tears, more shaky breaths.

…

 _We regret to inform you_ …

…

 _. . ._

…

 _e_ . . .

…

Eventually, Sherlock let the letter fall from his hands. He pulled out his phone and pressed the call button under John's contact. He didn't have the proper motor function at the moment to send a text.

John's phone lit up with a phone call… it was Sherlock.

 _Holy shit… Sherlock_ never _calls people on the phone_.

"God, sorry guys, I have to take this."

Mike and Molly gave John a worried look as he answered the phone, leaving the table to step outside.

"Sherl, what's going on, love?"

John was met with incoherent crying on the other end. His heart sunk and he felt a lump in his throat.

"Sherlock? Love, I need you to breathe for me. You have to breathe so you can talk to me. What's going on?"

Mike and Molly had followed John outside, their curiosity and concern for their other friend overpowering their willingness to wait inside.

John cupped the bottom of the phone with his other hand. "Love, please breathe. Deep breaths. 7 seconds in through your nose, 11 seconds out through your mouth. What's going on?"

Sherlock hiccupped on the other end of the line, trying to regain control of his breathing.

" _I…_ " he started. It was the first portion of the first coherent thought he'd had since he saw that letter waiting for him in his mail box.

"Sherlock?"

" _I… I didn't…_ "

John's heart sank.

 _Don't you dare finish that sentence. I'll fly back to the United States and I'll kill the Dean of that god-forsaken school myself._

" _They've… rejected me._ "

John gasped, his heart officially cracked into two or three pieces. "I'm getting a cab to Baker Street now. I'll be there in a few minutes."

With that, he pressed the end button on his phone. He turned back to Mike and Molly who looked more concerned than they did before. John fished a wad of cash out of his pocket and handed it to his friends. "I'm sorry our lunch got interrupted with such bad news… I've got to go, though. He's so… God, I've got to go. I'll see you back at home?"

Mike nodded, and with that John ran off and hailed the first cab he could, shuttling off to Baker Street. As soon as he stepped out of the cab, he threw another wad of cash into the cabbie's hand, insisting he keep however much change was there. With that, John ran inside and up to Sherlock's flat as quickly as his legs would carry him. He walked in to find a distraught Sherlock, still knelt on the floor, hugging himself. The god forsaken letter lay on the floor, crumpled where Sherlock's fists had held on to it so tightly. Without saying a word, John fell to his knees next to Sherlock and pulled him into the tightest hug he could muster. He had one hand wrapped tightly around Sherlock's waist, and he moved the other to card his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He whispered soothing 'I love you's' and tried to convince Sherlock that everything was going to be alright.

But the truth was that Sherlock had never felt so far from alright in his life.

Eventually Sherlock had regained control of his breathing and his distraught sobbing had faded out into occasional tears streaking his face. His body had sunk to the floor, his head resting on John's lap. John had the rejection letter in his hand. He shook his head repeatedly, muttering to himself.

"There's no way that this is correct, Sherlock. You're bloody phenomenal… I think you should call admissions."

Sherlock tiredly shook his head where he laid on John's lap. "I'm not quite interested in hearing all the terrible things they have to say about me or my audition, John."

John shook his head harder. "You're not listening to me, love. This could very well be a mistake. These things happen, you know, with so many applicants. Plus, it's a generic letter they very well could have stamped your name to the wrong sort of envelope."

John looked down at Sherlock, who'd closed his eyes as tears started trickling down his cheeks again. John gently combed his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"I think it would do you good to at least send the admissions office an email."

Sherlock shrugged. "Would it really make a difference?"

John shoved Sherlock up into a sitting position and pulled him around so that he was facing him, eyes directly level with his own.

"I _won't_ take that quitter talk from you, Holmes. Where's that smarmy prick of a violinist I met all that time ago?"

Despite the harshness of John's words, the slightest hint of a smile played across Sherlock's lips. "I think you've gotten him to mellow out a bit."

Sherlock's smile immediately faded. He wanted to tell him, but he couldn't. What the judge had said back then. That the fact that he'd spoken to the judges on John's behalf may have played some role in his rejection.

 _He'd never forgive himself, even when he didn't do anything wrong…_

John noticed Sherlock falling deep into his thoughts again. He gently cupped his face and placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

"Don't spiral, love. We're going to get this all figured out. I promise. You fought so hard for me to reach my dreams, I'm going to do the same for you."

This time he pulled Sherlock and kissed him with an urgency Sherlock wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

"For you, my love, I'd do anything."

Sherlock simply burst into tears before pulling John into another bone crushing hug. His heart felt like it was both cracking in two and being filled to the brim with love, ready to burst.

"I love you, John Watson. Damnit, I bloody love you."

John only hugged tighter in response, rubbing his back gently.

Sherlock relented and was now taking a warm bath upon John's request while John made the two of them some tea and biscuits. He'd sent Mike a text telling him that he probably wouldn't be returning home tonight, because he didn't want to leave Sherlock on his own after everything that'd happened that day. Mike quickly responded asking about what was going on, as John had left him and Molly completely in the dark as he ran off to hail a cab to Baker Street. He told them that Sherlock had gotten bad news from Julliard, but he didn't want to go too into detail because he wanted it to be Sherlock's story to tell. Nonetheless, his friends knew what that meant, and they offered their well wishes for their friend.

John texted back his warmest thanks as Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped lazily around his hips. John choked on his breath, willing himself to _not get a boner right now_. The last thing Sherlock needed right now was something as intense as sex to throw his already miserably disrupted emotions even further off balance. What he needed was sleep and tea, and perhaps some cuddling.

 _No sex_. John thought to himself again, more trying to convince himself than anything else. He took a deep breath before he poured some tea for Sherlock and himself and bringing the mugs over, setting them down on the coffee table.

"I made some biscuits too. Not sure how hungry you'd be."

Sherlock shrugged, falling haphazardly onto the sofa, somehow not completely exposing himself.

"I'm not too terribly hungry, but I appreciate you."

John couldn't fight the blush that spread through his cheeks as he grabbed a biscuit for himself and sat down on the couch next to Sherlock, leaning into him.

"If it's alright with you, I was thinking I could spend the night? I know it's been a hard day, and I don't want to leave you alone, unless you'd rather be alone. But it's all up to you."

Sherlock reached over and squeezed John's thigh, smiling at him.

"I'd love for you to spend the night."

John tried to shove away the deep huskiness he thought he heard in Sherlock's voice when he said that, and he tried to ignore the way Sherlock's hand moved up his thigh ever so slightly before he pulled his hand away and leaned forward, reaching for his cup of tea. He grabbed the remote to the television with his other hand and turned it on, mindlessly flipping through the channels.

"There's never anything good on anymore."

John chuckled. "I'm telling you, Sherl. Nobody needs cable anymore. All you need is your computer and Netflix, and you're set for life."

Sherlock shrugged. "Guess I might have to considering I'll probably never touch my violin again in my life."

You could have heard a pin drop, even with the television on and the carpeted floors. The silence that fell between them was thick, and John was almost sure that was why he was struggling to breathe all of a sudden.

He chanced a glance at Sherlock, who simply looked ahead at nothing in particular, his eyes glossy from tears welling fresh in his eyes.

"Sherlock," John started, not sure _what_ he was planning on responding to _that_ with.

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't need to say anything."

"No, but you can't be serious. Even if this wasn't a mistake, Sherlock… _never_ touch your violin again? It's… it's your everything, it's who you are."

"Well, you thought medical school was who you were, didn't you?"

John's thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. He hated it, but… Sherlock was completely right. He immediately shook his head.

"Yes, I did. But we are _not_ the same. There's no way that that bloody uptight, full-of-himself violinist that I met all those years ago breathed and lived through his violin for _nothing_."

John pulled Sherlock towards him, cupping his face in both of his hands.

"Sherlock, music isn't just something you do. Medical school was just something I did. But, with you, God, you _are_ the music. Don't you see? You pour your heart and soul into every note and I can _hear_ that. I can hear the things that you're trying to tell me when you play that damned violin, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you walk away from your life. I'm not going to let you do what I did. Walking away from the piano was one of the biggest mistakes I'd ever made, and if I'd never met you, it never would have been corrected. Don't do what I did. Don't be a complete idiot."

Sherlock shook his head. "If I'm not good enough to get into Julliard, then what's the point?"

"Sherlock, Julliard is just one of so many prestigious music schools. What does it matter if one hoity-toity Dean doesn't see how perfect you are both as a person and a musician?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It's where Mycroft was going…"

John leaned back, silence falling thick between them again. With no response, Sherlock continued.

"Mycroft had just been accepted. Before he…"

Sherlock began crying again, frustratedly wiping the fresh tears from his eyes. "I know it's a stupid sentiment, but… I thought that if I could go there, well… I could do the things that he never got to do. I could pay some sort of homage to my brother and sister who didn't get to live long enough to pursue their dreams to the fullest."

Now John's own eyes stung with unshed tears, and he could do nothing else but pull his boyfriend into his arms and squeeze him as tightly as he could, planting kisses wherever he could reach.

"Don't give up hope, love. We're going to figure this out."

Sherlock angled his head to look up at John. "We?"

John leaned down and met Sherlock's lips in a deep kiss, whispering an affectionate "idiot" against his partner's lips. "Have you already forgotten what I told you earlier?"

John wrapped his arms around his partner and laid his head on his shoulder. "I told you I'd do anything for you, and I meant it.

Sherlock relaxed into John's embrace, closing his eyes and trying to even out his breathing again. In the calming silence, John's attention was once again, unfortunately, drawn to the teasing sight of Sherlock's hips, the towel just barely keeping everything of interest covered.

 _Please, for the love of God_ , he screamed in his mind. _Can we not play the horny teenage boy role tonight? I just want everything to be calm for him._

John was pulled out of his thoughts with a gentle elbow to his side. He jolted, turning to face a startled Sherlock next to him.

"Are you alright, John?" he asked. "You went really stiff all of a sudden."

John blushed furiously, nodding and pulling his legs in where he sat in an effort to hide his shame. "M'fine. No need to worry about me. Just relax."

John moved so he could peak at Sherlock's face, and he was met with the bastard absolutely _smirking_.

"Sherlock Holmes, whatever you're thinking, don't you dare."

"What, like sex isn't the perfect stress reliever?"

John pulled away from his embrace and moved to hide himself, his face burning with embarrassment. "It isn't what you need right now," he mumbled, barely audible from where he was currently trying to bury himself into a troubled fetal position. "For God's sake, you were just in tears not 5 minutes ago. Your emotions are all over the place and you just need a calm, relaxing evening."

In a matter of seconds, John found himself pinned down on the sofa, Sherlock hovering threateningly over him, that damned towel somehow _still in place._

"How the hell has that thing not fallen off yet?" John asked, not even bothering to hide his frustration. Sherlock only chuckled in response, sending shivers down John's spine.

"I'm not the scientist here, why don't you tell me?"

John groaned in frustration. "You really think I'm in the right mindset to be answering god damn physics questions right now, Sherl?"

"Fine," Sherlock whispered, bringing his hands gently to the hem of John's t-shirt. "Maybe a logic puzzle then? Like… why haven't you taken _this_ off yet?"

John shuddered as Sherlock gently pulled John up before pulling his shirt off in one swift motion. John looked up at him with concerned eyes.

"Sherl, are you sure about this? What if it's too much and you just feel worse afterwards…"

Sherlock stopped John short with a kiss, this one needy, full of desire. Sherlock's tongue slid into John's slightly parted mouth, earning a small moan from the blond underneath him. Sherlock broke away, hardly effected while John was a panting mess underneath him already.

"Does that answer your question?"

John nodded, still trying to catch his breath. Sherlock leaned down and kissed against his neck, alternating between kissing and biting and sucking. It had been a while since they'd gotten to be this intimate together, and Sherlock needed it now more than ever.

Sherlock kissed his way up to John's ear. "If you want me to stop at any point, tell me."

John nodded in response, but he was too far gone at this point to even consider asking him to stop.

So, needless to say, they got _very_ little sleep that night.


	19. Chapter 19

John woke up the next morning when speckles of sunshine started hitting his face. _Somehow,_ they'd made it from the couch to the bedroom last night, and the two of them were somewhat clean considering exactly how much sex they'd had last night. John stretched, rolling over and flopping himself over Sherlock. The brunet grunted in his sleep but made no motion to move away from John.

After an undeterminable amount of time, John was pulled out of his blissful half-sleep by his phone violently vibrating on the table next to him. He rolled over and picked it up. He squinted through the brightness to see that it was an incoming call from Molly. He picked it up, dragging his free hand over his face.

" _John? How's Sherlock doing? Has he contacted the school yet_?"

John groaned, moving to stand up so he could take the call outside. He didn't want to actually wake Sherlock up. The poor man needed as much sleep as he could get.

"I've just woken up, and he's still asleep."

" _Still asleep_?! _Jesus, it's almost noon_."

John shrugged. "So? The man is probably exhausted, he deserves some rest."

John felt the uneasy silence on the other end of the line. He let out a sigh and walked over to the sofa and gently sat down.

"I'm going to try to convince him to reach out to admissions today. Though, I don't know how much luck I'll have. The last thing he said to me last night was that he never planned on touching his violin again."

" _Oh, that no good over-dramatic twit_ ," Molly grumbled. John heard rustling on the other line. " _I'm on my way to Baker Street. Get that depressive sod out of bed so we can figure this thing out_."

Before John could protest, the line was disconnected, Molly's contact flashing on his phone screen. John muttered a whispered expletive before pushing himself off of the sofa. If Molly was on her way, they definitely had no time to shower, but the least they could do is put on… almost presentable clothing.

John walked back into the bedroom and flicked the light on, earning an annoyed groan from Sherlock as he pulled the covers over his head.

"Sherlock, Molly is on her way over and she's on a mission, so you either get out of bed the easy way or the hard way."

Sherlock flipped the covers off of him and looked at John with sleepy eyes. " _Why_ is Molly coming over?"

John bent over to pick up his clothes that were abandoned on the floor the night before. "Because she and I are similar in that we aren't going to let you throw away your life that easily."

"Oh, for God's sake, John," Sherlock mumbled, sitting up and burying his face in his hands. "Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"

John punctuated his next remark with a whip of his clothes, attempting to get the wrinkles out. "Because it isn't well enough to be left alone. Now stop complaining and get up and put some clothes on. If we can't shower the sex off, the least we can do is make it look like we did."

When Sherlock still refused to move from where he sat on the bed, John waltzed over to Sherlock's closet and removed the first shirt he found and whipped it over to him, slapping him directly in the face. Sherlock's muffled protests were thwarted by a pair of pants quickly following the shirt.

"If you don't want the shoes to follow the pants, I suggest you start moving, Holmes."

Sherlock glared at John, who only smirked in response. "You're cute when you're grumpy, you know."

"Shut up," Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth before standing up and pulling his pants on. Eventually, the two of them finally managed to make themselves look somewhat presentable, and they were just in time to greet Molly's furious knocking on the door of 221B Baker Street. It was John who answered, as Sherlock was busy sulking in his chair in the living room. Molly pushed past John after a brisk greeting, thundering up the stairs and slamming her bag down on the living room table. She walked over to where Sherlock sat and bent forward so she was level with his gaze.

"Sherlock Holmes, have you actually gone and lost your damn mind this time?"

"No," Sherlock started, thrusting himself out of his chair, causing Molly to recoil and take several steps back. John stepped forward, so he was between Sherlock and Molly.

"Sherlock, take it easy—,"

"No, because I'm not the one whose lost my mind here, its you lot! You want me to try so hard to get in touch with these people as though its going to change anything, when it's my own bloody fault I didn't get in in the first place!"

Sherlock fell back into his chair, hugging his knees to his chest. "It's all because of that damned judge at your audition… she said that my actions in favor of you could reflect badly on my own admissions… I thought she was just bluffing, but perhaps she wasn't."

John's face fell immediately. It was… his fault? He was the reason Sherlock didn't get into Julliard?

All his bloody fault...

He felt Molly's hand on his shoulder, his breathing shallow and panicked. How could he have let this happen?

"Sherlock," John started, voice shaking. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you… why did you let me get in the way? You should have just left me in that bathroom, if you'd known it was going to cost you… everything."

Sherlock took a deep breath. His eyes glistened with tears that he really didn't feel like crying right now. He was still dehydrated from all the crying he'd done yesterday. "You're worth everything, John. I believed in your abilities and to me that was well worth the risk."

John shook his head. "It's not worth it if it's making you give up your… everything."

Before Sherlock could respond, Molly interrupted.

"Hold on, didn't you just get back from your audition?" she asked, deep in thought. John gave a cautious nod.

"Then that's impossible," Molly said thoughtfully. "Because your audition was just two days ago then. The day before you flew back, right? That gives them less than 48 hours to get that letter overseas and into his mailbox. It's practically impossible. They must have sent it out before your audition, it's the only way it would have gotten here before you even returned home yourselves."

John nodded. "You don't think its possible they do it "express" or whatever the hell they do over there?"

Molly gave John an annoyed stare. "You think an American college is going to spend any more money than they have to on something like admissions letters?"

John nodded again. "I suppose you're right."

Sherlock gave an exasperated chuckle, leaning further back into his chair. "Well that's a relief. They rejected me because I'm talentless, not because I tried to convince the judges how good John was."

Molly groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sherlock, these people make mistakes all the bloody time. That's why you should contact the admissions office like it says to do on the damn letter."

John and Molly spent the entire afternoon on their phones, taking turns calling the admissions office at Julliard. Since decision letters were starting to get mailed out, it was probably going to take them ages to actually get ahold of someone. The whole being located overseas, 5 hours in the future thing probably wasn't a great deal of help to them either. Sherlock sat pensively in his chair, sulking while the two of them struggled in vain to contact Julliard's admissions office.

While it was Molly's turn to sit on the phone and wait until her signal dropped, Sherlock finally spoke up.

"John, I wish you both wouldn't do all this. If I don't care, why should you lot?"

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he was half listening to Molly muttering curses either at her phone, the admissions office, or both. "Because I know that you're full of shit and that you probably care ten times more than I do, and I'm also not going to let you throw everything away like an idiot," he responded, without even turning away from his phone. Sherlock simply shrank further into his chair, wondering what on Earth he'd done to deserve the beautiful blond sitting across the room from him.

It was nearing 5 in the evening, and Molly and John still hadn't relented in their efforts to contact admissions. Sherlock had wandered into the kitchen and started throwing together an impromptu dinner. It was the least he could do since he wasn't actively helping them in their efforts to inquire about his decision letter. He made a simple pasta with tomato sauce and set down two steaming bowls on the table in front of where John and Molly had been since Molly arrived almost 5 hours ago. They both sat crowded around Molly's laptop, browsing for other methods of contact besides calling, seeing as their phones were struggling to keep a signal long enough to let a phone call go through.

"It's only noon in the States, you know," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "They're probably on a lunch break, which means you should take advantage of that and eat your dinner before it goes cold."

The only response he received was a harsh shushing from Molly as they intensely browsed Julliard's website.

"You'd think one of the most prestigious music schools in the United States would have a more user-friendly interface," Molly muttered, typing furiously in the search bar. "I just want a bloody list of faculty or something."

"Why are you searching for a list of faculty?" Sherlock asked, his fork-full of pasta pausing on the way to his mouth. "It just said to e-mail the admissions office in the letter."

"The more e-mails you send, the more likely it is you'll get a response faster."

Sherlock's face fell and he silently took the bite of pasta. John sighed and moved to pick up his dinner from the table. He was rather hungry since they hadn't had a chance to eat any breakfast or lunch before Molly arrived.

"Thanks, Sherlock," he said softly. "For dinner."

Sherlock shrugged, slowly picking at his food. "No need. The least I can do considering all the effort you lot are putting in. Though, I still think it's pointless and you'd both be better off if you just left it alone."

"Stop sulking over people helping you, it comes off more selfish than selfless," Molly scolded, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"It's one thing to accept help from a friend, and its another to let a friend do all of the things that I should probably be doing. And since I'm _not_ doing them, or planning on doing them, there's absolutely no sense in you or John putting so much of your time and effort into this."

Molly shook her head, frustrated. "Don't you get it, Sherlock? If having an absolutely perfect audition—" she threw a hand up when Sherlock started a protest. "I _don't_ want to hear it, we all know you played perfectly. But if that wasn't enough for the judges, then going through some sort of effort to contact an actual person instead of the admissions office support address is going to show them that you are incredibly passionate about what you want. Passionate persistence is such an underrated tactic."

John simply sat in silence and ate. One thing was certain. Molly and Sherlock were two of the most stubborn people he'd ever met, and it was a hard bet to say who was more stubborn than the other. He had learned by this point that it's best to just let them bicker it out until one of them eventually out-stubborns the other. Once John had finished, he placed his empty bowl down and pried the laptop from Molly's hands, replacing it with her own dinner that was barely warm at this point.

"Eat, Molly. I'll keep looking."

Molly nodded gratefully, but she couldn't refrain from peering over John's shoulder while he browsed.

One meal and four more hours of internet browsing later, Molly and John had finally found a handful of e-mail addresses to contact, including the general support e-mail for the admissions office that was included in the decision letter. With Sherlock's reluctant assistance, they drafted a message with just enough snark to sound like Sherlock and not his two friends drafting a message for him, but lacking the pompous air that would likely get him nothing more than a scoff before the recipient would hit the discard button. With messages sent, Molly closed her laptop and took a deep breath.

"See, Sherlock? All it takes is a little digging."

Sherlock shook his head. "Molly, you've been here for almost 10 hours doing nothing but… this. Why are you trying so hard to help me? I've not always been that kind to you."

Molly shrugged, feigning indifference, but her eyes were gentle. "I think I just felt that you were covering up a big soft sweetheart with that absolute arsehole act you'd been playing all those years." She laughed as she looked over at John, who was lightly dozing where he sat on the sofa. "And I think John really helps bring out that side of you. Despite things that I may have done or said, I've always considered you my friend, Sherlock."

Molly gave him a soft smile before leaning down to give him a hug. "Everything will work out. Keep your eyes on your inbox, and you'll have answers soon enough." She stood up and adjusted the bag that was slung over her shoulder. "Until then, don't waste time. Take John and do something fun with each other before life starts dragging you in different directions again."

With that, Molly bid him goodnight and set off down the stairs and out of the apartment. Sherlock insisted that she text him when she'd made it safely back to her flat across town. In the meantime, he shook John awake.

"Come on love, it's late. Let's get some sleep, yeah?"

John nodded, groggy from sleep. Sherlock lent John a set of his own sleep clothes since John hadn't been home to get any of his own, and the two of them collapsed into bed within the hour. Despite all of the uncertainties, Sherlock melted into the warmth of John next to him and fell into one of the most restful sleeps he'd ever had.


	20. Chapter 20

It had been almost a week since Molly and John had attacked Juilliard with the force of a thousand phone calls. John still refused to leave Sherlock's side, but Sherlock had finally convinced him to at least go home and get some more of his clothes and his computer, at the least.

"I feel awful taking up all of your time like this, John. You still have things for school to finish, don't you?"

John shrugged. "Yeah, but it's the last semester. I'm graduating anyway, what does it matter?"

Sherlock shook his head. "The John Watson I know and love would never throw caution to the wind like that, especially with academics. I've been a bad influence on you, it would seem…"

"Oh, for the love of God…" John muttered, standing up and walking over to where Sherlock sulked in his chair. John leaned forward so their eyes were level. "Are you quite finished with that nonsense of yours?" John asked.

Sherlock shook his head furiously. "No. I don't know that I'll ever be done being a bad influence on you. I suppose you'll have to fall into the pit of despair with me, John."

John rolled his eyes before situating himself on top of his boyfriend, straddling his thighs. "This is just your living room chair, you drama queen. Maybe you should have majored in theatrical performance instead of the violin."

Sherlock pouted and looked away from John's teasing eyes. John leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Sherlock's temple, and the tension in Sherlock's shoulders immediately relaxed.

"Please let me take you home to at least get some more of your things if you'll be staying with me longer? I feel like I've completely and utterly ripped you out of your life. I don't want you to cast everything you care about aside simply because I'm having a hard time right now."

John shook his head, chuckling softly. "You'll never understand it, will you?" he asked, regarding Sherlock with a warm smile and a loving gaze. "You are what I care about, Sherlock. Amongst other things, yes. But you need my help now, and it isn't a bother for me to give it to you."

Sherlock blushed, but the frown stayed rooted in his features. "Are you sure? I'm sure Mike and Molly miss you, I pulled you away from your time with them on your first day home. I'm sure they're worried about you."

"They're worried about you too, love. They know how much you wanted this, and they want you to get that spot in that school too. They know—we all know—how much you deserve it."

John pulled Sherlock into his chest before he could mutter any more protests, curling his fingers through his wavy, brown locks. "Let me take care of you, Sherlock. Please?"

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and melted into the embrace. He moved so his chin rested against John's chest. "Will you let me take care of you too, John?"

He felt John go stiff in his arms. John pulled back and looked down at Sherlock, his face red, but he wore an elated grin. "Let's take care of each other, yeah?"

Sherlock gave a curt nod before pulling John back towards him. John nuzzled into the crook of Sherlock's neck, and they stayed like that for several moments. But soon enough, Sherlock shoved John out of the chair and stood up himself.

"Come on, let's go get some of your things. And let your flat mate know that you aren't, you know, dead or anything."

In the end, Sherlock and John had spent almost the entire afternoon at John's flat, the two of them catching up with Mike. Molly had been keeping him updated, but John could tell that his friend was thankful to actually see the two of them in person after all the drama had gone down. When dinner time rolled around, John stood and stretched, reaching for his bag.

"I suppose we should be off, then. Don't want to keep you from your work all day long," John muttered through his stretch.

"Don't be strangers, you two," Mike said, crossing the room from where he sat to pull the both of them into a tight hug. "Keep Molly and I posted. We're always rooting for you boys."

With that, they made their way outside and hailed a taxi to take them back to Baker Street. John placed his bag down once they were inside and made his way to the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner, love?"

Sherlock waved a hand. "Whatever's easy, I'm not picky."

John gave him a hard stare. "You? _Not_ picky? Sure."

Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not!"

John simply chuckled in response. "Alright. I'm making a surprise dinner then. And if you _aren't_ picky as you claim, you have to eat all of it. No complaining."

Sherlock fell into his chair, retrieving his phone from his pocket. "Fine, fine."

He noticed that he had a voicemail notification that had been sitting in his inbox all afternoon. He hadn't looked at his phone but once or twice to tell the time while they were at John and Mike's flat. He opened it up and noticed that it was an American phone line.

 _Thump thump_.

His heart immediately leaped to his throat, and he could barely hear John shuffling around in the kitchen just behind him through the intense beating of his heart. Curiosity besting his anxieties, he tapped the notification, and held a shaky phone up to his ear.

 _Thump thump._

 _"Sorry we missed you, Mr. Holmes. We're contacting you today regarding your inquiry about your application status. Please return this call as soon as you can at 212-799-5000_."

The phone fell from Sherlock's hand and he sat there, motionless. It was much too late now, right? To call them. It was just after 6 here.

 _Thump thump._

"Bloody time zones!" he shouted, leaping from his chair and running to the bedroom to grab his computer. All the while John stood in the kitchen, concern marking his features.

"Sherlock, what's going on? What just happened?"

Sherlock gave no verbal answer. He instead picked up his phone from the floor and tossed it in John's direction before falling back into the chair and whipping his computer open. John tapped the replay button on the voicemail and held it up to his ear. His smile grew wider with each second before he ran to hover behind Sherlock's shoulder, watching as he furiously looked up what time the admissions office closed.

"It's barely after 1 there, Sherl, they're almost guaranteed to be there. Call them!"

John thrust Sherlock's phone back into his hands, taking his computer and setting it down on the living room table. Sherlock's hands shook violently as he typed the number into the phone.

 _This has to be good, right_?

 _Thump thump._

Shaky fingers pressed the call button.

 _They wouldn't have called if it was just to tell me how bad I was, would they_?

 _Thump thump._

Shaky hands move the phone up to his ear.

It's ringing.

 _Deep breaths._

 _Thump thump._

Sherlock reached out with his free hand and grabbed John's own hand, squeezing it tightly.

Still ringing.

The silence in the room was suffocating. Sherlock wasn't even sure if he was breathing or not.

Then suddenly, the ringing stopped. It was replaced with a voice.

 _"Hello?"_

Despite the palpitations in his heart, Sherlock was able to keep his voice unwavering and firm.

"I am returning a call I received from you a few hours ago. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'm calling about my application status."

 _"Oh, Mr. Holmes! So glad you could get back to us today. I'm afraid somewhere along the line, someone made a mistake with your decision letter."_

A… a mistake? Sherlock said nothing, so the voice on the line continued.

 _"Unfortunately, with this system, mistakes do happen. Luckily, yours is relatively easy to fix. You see, you've been accepted to the graduate program at Juilliard with a full scholarship_."

"Oh my God…"

Sherlock nearly fell out of his chair. The voice on the line continued as though he'd heard nothing at all.

 _"We just wanted to confirm your address, so we can send you the correct letter and we can proceed with acceptance of our offer, should you choose to accept. Is 221 B Baker Street, London, England correct?"_

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Y-yes sir. That is the correct address."

 _"Excellent. Thank you again for your patience and let me take this time to offer my sincerest apologies for the mix-up. We know this must have taken a toll on you and your family, and I truly have no idea how it got mixed up so poorly. We hope this doesn't keep you from joining our program, Mr. Holmes. We'd be truly honored to have you study with us."_

"Oh, believe me," Sherlock said, his voice elated. "I cannot begin to express my excitement. I cannot wait to join your school in the fall."

 _"Thanks very much, Mr. Holmes. If you have any questions between now and the beginning of the semester, don't hesitate to call our office or reach out to us via e-mail. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, and we'll be in touch."_

"Of course, thank you so much!"

With that, even shakier hands pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the end button. It was then, and only then, that Sherlock burst into tears. Relief, adrenaline, excitement had all built up and been released so quickly. He barely even noticed when John's arms wrapped around him, his soothing voice whispering soft 'I love you's and 'I'm so proud of you's. Sherlock turned to face him and pulled him over the back of the chair, kissing him with fervor.

"Jesus Christ, John… Jesus…"

"Are you surprised? I'm not. I knew it was a mistake as soon as I saw that letter."

Sherlock shook his head. "No, no… I'm, I'm… I always acted so full of myself because everyone in the London scene knew me. But, Juilliard, where the greatest of the greats go to learn music? Well, why would some London nobody like me ever get a chance there?"

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and met his gaze. Sherlock had never seen so much love and affection in that man's eyes. It was enough to be intimidating if the gaze wasn't so soft. So warm. So safe.

"Shut up and accept the fact that you're talented, please?" He gave Sherlock a sweet kiss before standing up and walking back to the kitchen. "Let's celebrate with some dinner, yeah?"

It was a little after 11 and Sherlock had settled into bed already. John stood idly in the bathroom with the toothbrush dangling haphazardly out of his mouth. He was sending a lengthy text to his chat with Mike and Molly, explaining everything that happened.

 **All in all, we finally feel peace again. John 11:13PM**

 **Oh, that's wonderful news! I'm so glad it all worked out. I knew if we pestered them enough they'd figure out they made a mistake. :) Molly 11:14PM**

 **Glad to hear it, mate. He's a real piece of work, that Sherlock, but he's earned this. Mike 11:14PM**

As if on cue, Sherlock began to whine in the other room.

"John are you planning on coming to bed sometime this evening?"

"Hold your horses, I'm almost done in here, you git,"

Despite the insult, there was little to no venom behind it. John finished brushing his teeth and rinsed his mouth before shutting the lights out and climbing into bed next to Sherlock. The brunet immediately curled up to him and let out a contented sigh.

"I love you," he muttered softly. John carded his fingers through his soft hair, unable to hold back the smile that formed on his lips.

 _To think that we ended up here, of all places. I could hardly stand the prick, and now… I can't bear the thought of not having him here next to me_.

That thought stopped John's thoughts dead in their tracks. He really _couldn't_ stand the thought of not having Sherlock here next to him. Couldn't stand the thought of waking up in his cold, single-person bed at home. Couldn't stand the thought of not waking up to brown hair sticking in his face and tickling his nose first thing in the morning. A swift poke to the ribs brought him back out of his spiral.

"I said I love you, John," Sherlock repeated, more insistent.

"Let's move in together," John blurted out. The darkness swallowed up the words and left the two of them breathless, motionless, making sure that they'd heard John right. That John had really said what he just said. Out loud. At almost midnight.

"You… do you mean that?" Sherlock asked, his voice timid. "You want to… move in with me?"

John pulled Sherlock closer to him. "I don't ever want to have another day where I don't wake up next to you."

He could feel Sherlock trying to curl in on himself.

 _That means he's blushing_ , John thought, not able to suppress his chuckle.

The last thing he heard was a small, harmless "shut up" from the man next to him before they both drifted off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

Over the next few weeks, life was slowly returning to normal. Or it was at least trying.

Really, _really_ trying.

Sherlock had one last performance at the Royal Academy before his graduation, and John was more than happy to oblige to be his accompanist one last time before he may or may not ever play the piano again professionally in his life.

Those thoughts were becoming more and more intrusive as time continued to pass without any word from Juilliard about John's admission status. John shook his head as he struck a sour chord, pulling Sherlock out of his own muse while they were practicing together. Sherlock turned on his heel, but John wasn't met with pompous annoyance like the old Sherlock would have provided. Instead his face was filled with sincere concern as he immediately rushed to John's aid.

"John? Are you worrying again?" he asked, walking over and placing his violin down on a chair near the piano. He walked over and planted firm hands on John's shoulders, attempting to soothe the anxiety out of his boyfriend with a shoulder massage.

"I know waiting is agonizing and you just want it to be over," he started, sighing. "Trust me. I know. But please try to be calm. Worrying is just going to decrease your life expectancy, and I'm not going to have any of that."

Sherlock leaned forward and planted a kiss on top of John's head, and he felt John relax into his touch ever so slightly as he continued to work his shoulders. He let his arms go limp at his sides and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head of all the anxieties that had continuously plagued him for the past several weeks.

"At this point I've just… I've accepted my fate. I just need to see it written down in front of me is all."

Sherlock gave a particularly rough squeeze, earning a pained yelp from the man sitting in front of him.

"The hell was that for, Sherl?" he snapped, whipping around to face the taller man. Sherlock knelt down so he was at eye level with John sitting at the piano stool, before pulling him into a bruising kiss. John's grunt of surprise melted into a pleased groan as he kissed back. For a moment, just a moment, all he could think about was how soft Sherlock's lips felt sealed against his own.

"I won't have that talk, Watson," Sherlock growled into his lips. John shivered at the tone and pulled back, blushing furiously.

"I'm sorry… I just, I can't help it. Why would they take so long if they're _not_ trying to tell me that I suck, and they are just trying to reject me in the nicest way possible?"

Sherlock shook his head. "John. They don't care about your feelings. I promise. If they didn't want you, you'd know. And the fact that the judges heard me out that day and offered you a second chance during your audition means that they _want_ you. So now all your waiting for is for _that_ to be written down in front of you."

John squeezed his hands into nervous fists, unable to lift his gaze from the floor. "Do you really, honestly think that, Sherlock?" Before Sherlock could speak, John brought a hand to his mouth and looked up, meeting his gaze with such sad eyes that Sherlock thought he felt his heart crack.

"Tell me as a fellow musician, as someone who got into Juilliard with full scholarships… do you really think that I have even a sliver of a chance at getting into this school? Was… was all of this worth it?"

Sherlock took John's hand from his mouth and gave it a reassuring squeeze before planting a gentle kiss to his palm. "John, I've never been more sure of anything in my life. If this school doesn't take you on a full scholarship like they've taken me, then I'm not sure that they can continue to claim that they teach the finest musicians."

John nodded and brought his hands to his face, attempting to rub away the anxiety and the fatigue that the anxiety was bringing upon him.

"Alright, um, where did we leave off?" John asked, turning back around to flip through his music. Though Sherlock was not fully convinced that John was fine, he figured that playing would keep his mind more preoccupied than going home and doing nothing at all.

"Measure 64," Sherlock said as he swooped up his violin and walked back over to his own stand. "We can start a few measures back if you'd like, to get into the phrase."

John nodded, and they were off, practicing for at least 2 more hours that day. Eventually it was Sherlock who insisted that if they practiced anymore they were going to hurt themselves, and John reluctantly stood from the piano and let Sherlock drag him home.

It had to be nearing 3 in the morning. Every time he was almost asleep he woke up with a jolt, anxiety getting the best of him again. Sherlock slept peacefully next to him, though John had no idea how. He spent the majority of the night tossing and turning, trying to keep his sounds of frustration to a minimum. He was so exhausted, he really just wanted to sleep so things could be better.

 _But my whole life is depending on this letter… whether I'm happy or not for the rest of my life depends on this letter._

The thought drove him deeper into his spiral. With a quick intake of breath, John threw off the covers and got out of bed. He drove a hand threw his hair as he left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He paced through the living room, trying to will his mind to stop.

 _I need to stop panicking_ , he thought to himself. _Sherlock is right. It isn't going to help anything._

He flopped down onto the couch, face buried in his hands. He groaned and muttered under his breath. All he wanted was sleep.

Within moments, at least what felt like moments but he couldn't be sure, he was greeted by warm arms around him and Sherlock whispering quiet words to him in the darkness. John moved his hands from his face, and he could see the gleam of fresh tears on them from the lights trickling in from outside. He didn't realize he'd been crying. Without speaking, he leaned further into Sherlock's embrace, wrapping his arms around the other's waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his words cracking under his sobs. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"God, John, I don't care," Sherlock muttered, his own voice wavering. John wanted to ask him why, but he couldn't form any more words. The only sounds he could muster were broken sobs.

"I just want you to be okay," Sherlock whispered into his dirty blond hair, hugging John closer.

John couldn't tell how long it had been, but eventually his tears subsided, and he fell asleep in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock let out a deep sigh that he'd been holding for who knows how long as he relaxed into the couch. Sleep eventually came over him as well, and they managed to sleep through the rest of the night.

The next morning John woke with a groan, stretching his neck. Sun was speckling the floors in the kitchen, so it wasn't too awfully late in the morning.

"Crap," he whispered, moving through several various stretches in an effort to alleviate the pain in his shoulders and his back. "Sherl, you stayed here all night?" he asked sleepily, turning to the man half-sitting, half-lying next to him. Sherlock laid with his head thrown back, his mouth thrown open. He awoke with a startled snore, his messy curls falling in his face as he jolted upwards. He grunted and brought a hand to his neck.

"You feeling better this morning?" he asked, voice groggy from sleep. John sighed, shaking his head less in a response to the question and more in response to his boyfriend's antics. "Yeah," he muttered softly. "I'd feel even better if you didn't ruin your neck just because I had a rough night." John stood and walked around to the back of the sofa, offering Sherlock a massage in return for the one he was given at rehearsal yesterday. "Does it hurt too bad? I can run to the store and get some biofreeze or something."

Sherlock shook his head, relaxing into John's ministrations with a pleased sigh. "I'll be fine. Might just take a break from practicing today is all. But I'm more worried about you… I woke up after 3 in the morning and you were in the living room sobbing."

John froze where he stood, and Sherlock turned around.

"Love?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he'd startle John and send him running from the apartment.

"…are you alright?"

"Sobbing?" John asked, eyes flooded with disbelief. "I… I don't remember. I don't remember any of that."

Sherlock's face fell as he stood. He rushed around the couch to pull John into his arms.

"It's alright. I'm sure its just because you've been so tired. We'll make sure you get better sleep tonight, I promise."

 _God, I hope they send that damn letter soon. I'm so tired of watching him suffer._

After pulling away from the embrace, even though he desperately wanted to stay, Sherlock made the two of them a small breakfast. He suggested that they spend the day at John's flat instead of his own, for both the purpose of a change of scenery, and for the hopes that the letter was _finally_ coming today. It had been weeks since the audition, and Sherlock had already received his. Since John's audition wasn't too far after his, he assumed that the letter would follow suit at about the same time frame. Which lead to today.

He had a good feeling, and he hoped it would follow suit. Once they arrived at John's flat, they resigned to spending the day lazing around the apartment, alternating between watching various television programs and playing games together. John seemed to be faring better than he had the previous night, but he kept a sharp ear out for the mail truck in the hopes that today was the day.

The afternoon was nearing its end and Sherlock still hadn't heard the telltale clanging of the of the mail slot being opened and closed. Sherlock and John were in the middle of a heated round of Rummy, and John was genuinely smiling and chuckling for the first time in weeks.

"You know, you're _really_ bad at this game," John said softly, unable to hide the laugh in his voice. "I mean, you have to be trying to lose."

Sherlock threw his cards down on the table and pouted, leaning back in his chair. "We can't all be good at card games, you know. Some of us are good at… um…"

John chuckled and threw his own cards before climbing over the table and planting a kiss on Sherlock's cheek. "I'm only kidding, you know. You're not _that_ bad."

Sherlock couldn't help his smile as he led John into his lap, planting more sweet kisses along his cheek and down his neck. He pulled the smaller man into a tight hug and held him for several moments, neither of them saying a word. That was, until they heard it.

 _*clink*_

…

The sound of papers fluttering to the ground.

…

 _*clink*_

…

John and Sherlock held intense eye contact with each other throughout those few seconds. Those few seconds that had stretched themselves into entire minutes.

"Did you…" Sherlock started.

"…hear that?" John finished.

The two of them bolted up and ran down towards the front door, each of them seizing half a pile of mail in their hands. They ran to the dining room table, throwing the mail down as excitement flooded through them.

"Since when do you get _so much mail_ ," Sherlock asked, laughing as he shuffled through the mass of envelopes in front of him.

"I'm a soon-to-be medical school graduate who just so happens to be the top of my class. I think you can put two and two together from there," John said, a teasing lilt to his voice as he frantically shuffled through his own stack.

It was Sherlock who found it first. An envelope from Juilliard. A… a large envelope. With John's name on it.

"John! John this is it!" Sherlock nearly shrieked. He practically threw the envelope in John's direction. John held the envelope in his hand, staring at it with disbelief. The two of them remained silent as John took several deep breaths, praying that his heart beat would slow just a little bit. Just enough for his entire body to stop shaking where he stood. Just enough to give him some control over his hands so he could actually get the damn thing open.

He looked up at Sherlock, as though he needed some kind of encouragement.

"The beginning of the rest of my life starts as soon as I open this," John murmured, mostly to himself even though he was making dead eye contact with the man who stood in front of him. Sherlock beamed.

"So, what are you waiting for?"

With a last deep breath, John carefully tore the letter open and pulled out the contents. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes met the welcome brochure that laid under the decision letter. His eyes whipped across the letter, looking for those words he wanted to read more desperately than anything. Begging for his body to get itself under control for _one bloody second_ because _I can't read this damned letter with my hands shaking so much_.

 _We are delighted to inform you that you've been accepted to the Juilliard School of Music Undergraduate Program beginning in the Fall of 20XX. Please go to the following link to accept or decline our admission offer before the beginning of the semester._

"Oh my god," John breathed, the letter falling from his hands.

"Oh my god?" Sherlock asked, reaching a hand out.

"Oh my god!" John cried, bounding towards Sherlock and jumping onto him. Sherlock reflexively wrapped his arms around him so he wouldn't bring both of them down to the ground.

"I got in! Sherlock! I got in! To Juilliard!"

John looked into Sherlock's eyes and he didn't think he'd ever seen so much love and admiration in those eyes. John could only give a shaky, almost hysterical laugh.

"I didn't think you could look at anyone like that," he teased, "considering you're a pompous arse."

The shaking of his voice left him sounding unconvincing in his insult. Not in the slightest.

Sherlock responded to the teasing with a kiss, promptly shutting John up, but doing nothing to stop the smaller man's shaking. Sherlock chuckled into the kiss, squeezing John closer to him.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered into his lips. "So, so proud."

Shortly after all the excitement, Mike and Molly arrived at the flat with a celebratory dinner in hand. They immediately swarmed John with hugs and congratulations while Sherlock set up the food on the table.

"Oh John, I knew you could do it!" Molly said excitedly. "I'm so excited for you! How are you feeling?"

John went silent, deep in thought. "I'm, shocked, honestly. Shocked, excited… tired."

Mike gave him a firm pat on the back. "Well you've earned a night of relaxation, so let's have some dinner and get some movies going, yeah?"

The rest of the night was spent full of friends, laughter, and for the first time in a long time, John felt completely at peace. He'd never been as ready to fall asleep curled up in Sherlock's arms as he was that night after they'd all gone to sleep. John's bed was much smaller than Sherlock's over on Baker Street, but that just meant that they had to curl up that much closer to each other.

Before they fell asleep, Sherlock planted a soft kiss on the back of John's head, hugging him closer.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered softly, voice tired. John hummed in content as the two drifted off into peaceful sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

The four friends sat down to dinner. Sherlock just played his last performance before his graduation from the Royal Academy of Music. For nostalgia's sake, Molly was welcomed aboard the performance, as the accompaniment part required two pianists. It was so much fun to play on stage with his two favorite pianists, and favorite people in the whole wide world.

"Well, it's been one hell of a ride," Mike said, clapping a hand on John's back. "But mate… we graduate tomorrow."

John thought back fondly upon the past few years of his life. He'd been so sure of himself when he started medical school. It was where he was meant to go. He looked over towards Sherlock, who was gazing over the menu very intensely. He chuckled to himself.

Sitting right there was the man who flipped his entire world upside down. Except, it turned out that John had been the one who was upside down the whole time. Sherlock just helped him get right side up again. And in a few months' time, they'd be beginning their next adventure in New York City. They'd been in contact with the housing offices and were almost done with setting up arrangements for an apartment. All that was left was packing up their lives into boxes and shipping them across the sea.

Sherlock finally looked up from his menu and met John's gaze. John must have been sporting some dangerous heart eyes, because he watched as a blush crawled from his cheeks up to the tip of his ears.

"Is… is something wrong, John?" Sherlock asked. John sighed with content as he shook his head.

"Not a thing, dear."

Dinner passed on with lots of laughter, some tears, and several handfuls of 'I'll miss you's. John and Mike's graduation ceremony dragged on for what felt like hours, but eventually they walked out to hugs and congratulations from all their friends and family, diplomas in hand. Summer slipped away through their fingertips. Before they knew it, boxes were being shipped to their apartment in New York. Mike had taken up a job teaching at Bart's. Molly was playing shows at the West End. Everyone's dreams had come true, but it was still sad. Because dreams coming true meant that it was time to get pulled away from their closest friends.

John and Sherlock turned to take one last glance at Mike and Molly, who'd come to see them off at the airport. Their luggage was currently being sent out to the plane and they were getting ready to head to their gate to wait for their flight. In about two hours, they'd be boarding a plane headed for the JFK airport. They had only a one-way ticket this time around.

"You better text us all the time!" Molly shouted. "If I don't know what you're doing every five minutes I might go crazy!"

John laughed and gave a thumbs up. "We'll do our best!"

Without warning, John and Molly both broke away and ran to give each other one last hug. Mike joined in, wrapping them both up in his arms. A last pair of arms wrapped themselves around the group, and John felt Sherlock's chin come to rest atop his head.

"I never thought I'd say this," Mike started, stepping back from the group. He clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you, Sherlock. You better take care of John for me."

Sherlock nodded before he pulled Mike into a hug. John gaped and Molly threw a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Thank you for keeping your eye on him all these years," Sherlock said. "I'll do my best to keep him in line."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm standing right here."

Mike and Sherlock chuckled as they broke from the hug. The groups departed again and this time they only offered a short wave as they turned around to bid their friends farewell while they walked away. The two men walked further and further into the airport. They turned a corner, officially leaving their friends, their families, their London behind them. Not forever. Not for good. Just for now.

But it still hurt. It hurt more than either of them expected. A few weeks ago they were on their knees begging for things to be this way. Now they almost wished they could turn back the clock. Just a few more moments. A few more precious moments to spend with the people they cared for most. But instead they walked on, neither of them daring to let the other see the silent tears trailing down their face.

John eventually turned to the tall brunet next to him and gave him a sad smile.

"To new beginnings?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice calm.

Sherlock nodded in response, his eyes glistening. "To new beginnings."


	23. Epilogue

**5 years later…**

John stood off stage, his palms sweating and his heart racing. His first performance as a professional musician. He was fresh from The Juilliard School of Music, and he was about to have his first performance as the soloist. How had he gotten here? It was all a blur. It was all thanks to that smarmy prick of his. His fiancé. Sherlock Holmes. The ethereal violinist that had set his heart ablaze.

John shook his head, his performance anxiety interrupted by brief interludes of I can't believe that Sherlock Holmes actually proposed to me and I can't believe that Sherlock Holmes is my fiancé and I can't believe I'm going to marry Sherlock Holmes.

He looked out to the stage and saw the orchestra warming up. The New York Philharmonic orchestra. Warming up. For his concerto. Where he was the soloist. He was so giddy with nerves and excitement, he wasn't sure how he was going to live through this.

But at the same time, he knew exactly how. Somewhere out in the audience, the amazing Sherlock Holmes is sitting there, ready to cheer him on louder than anyone else in that audience. Well, maybe not as loud as Mike and Molly. Not in volume anyways. But in spirit, Sherlock's cheers would always be the loudest. Because it was all thanks to him that he was sitting up on this stage in the first place.

Sherlock Holmes was one of the biggest mysteries. Each day with him was full of so many unknowns, and John had fallen so deeply in love with that. Each day brought new adventures for them to share and couldn't wait for the day that he could start introducing him to the world as his husband.

The lights in the hall dimmed and the sounds of the orchestra diminished along with them. The programmed announcement came on asking the audience members to silence their cell phones, to refrain from flash photography, the works.

"Thank you, and we hope you enjoy the performance."

The concert mistress stood next to him back stage. She turned to him, a soft smile.

"Break a leg! You're going to play beautifully."

John thanked her with a nod and a smile before she turned to walk on stage. She was met with thunderous applause as she bowed before turning to tune the orchestra. The conductor soon followed, more applause filling the theatre to the brim.

"And now I'd like to welcome our soloist to the stage. Now, I don't want you all to worry if the amazing quality of his performance leads you to faint; our soloist is a doctor, after all."

The audience and orchestra alike erupted with laughter. The conductor shot John a bright smile from on stage.

"And now, ladies, without further ado… John Watson."

Time slowed to a near stop as John walked onto the stage. He approached the beautiful piano sitting on the stage; it was there for him. He stopped by his bench and took a bow, his entire being enveloped in the sound of applause coming from the audience.

He stood up straight from his bow and took his seat. He adjusted his bench and hovered his hands over the piano keys, taking a deep breath. With one last look at the conductor, who held his baton at the ready, John smirked and gave a small nod. With that, it was off to the races.

The entire performance was nothing but adrenaline and sweat and flying fingers for its entirety. John stood up once again and bowed, the thunderous applause faint under the pounding of his heart. He walked off the stage and stood for a moment, the applause not dying down for a moment. He turned around and walked back on stage, bouncing in his step as he motioned for the orchestra to stand behind him as took several more bows.

Eventually the applause died down and the lights in the house came back up. Audience members trickled into the lobby and orchestra members filed backstage to pack up their instruments and get ready to go home. John waltzed into the nearest restroom and threw some cold water into his face, attempting to settle the fierce flush in his face.

He looked up in the mirror and couldn't help but beam at his reflection. His first performance as a professional musician… and he absolutely killed it.

His pride was nothing but encouraged when he was bombarded by his friends and his fiancé in the lobby. Molly thrusted flowers into his arms and Mike wrapped an arm over his shoulders and told him about all of his favorite parts. He made absolutely no sense in musical terms, but John couldn't help the brightness of his smile as he listened to his friend talk on.

He turned and locked eyes with the tall brunet that stood a few feet away from them. He held a more modest bouquet in one hand, and a small box of chocolates in the other. John felt his heart soar at the gesture. Molly finally released him so he could move to embrace Sherlock.

"You played wonderfully, my dear. Absolutely beautiful."

John blushed as he squeezed Sherlock just a little bit tighter. "None of this would even be happening if it wasn't for you."

Sherlock shook his head. "Nonsense. You were born to be a musician, and nothing was going to keep you from that path forever. Not even that fancy doctor job you were so determined to have."

Sherlock gave him a playful wink before linking arms with the shorter man. "Well, my love, shall we get going?"

 **April 23rd, 20XX**

"Do you, Sherlock Holmes, take John Watson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sniffling rose up from the audience as they watched the two men standing in front of them, holding hands and staring deeply into the other's eyes while they recited their wedding vows.

"I do."

"And do you, John Watson, take Sherlock Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

More sniffling. Some outright crying.

"Of course I do."

The priest closed the book he held in his hands and smiled at the two men in front of him. "Ladies and gentlemen! For the first time I present to you Doctor and Doctor Holmes-Watson!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and tears and congratulations. The two men looked at the priest expectantly.

"Oh, yes. And you may now kiss the groom."

Without taking so much as a breath, Sherlock pulled John into his arms and locked him in a breath-taking kiss. John immediately melted into it, his whole being aglow with happiness. He looked up at his husband. His snobby, smart-arse of a husband.

"I'm… captivated."

Sherlock's face visibly brightened with his blush. "Captivated by what, Dr. Holmes-Watson?"

John pulled Sherlock into another kiss.

"You. It's always been you."

D


End file.
